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SIR  EDWARD  BUlWER  LYTTON 


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HISTORICAL  ROMANCES 


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RIENZI, 

\  1 

I 

Z.  THE  ■( 

LAST  OF  THE  ROMAN  TRIBUNES 


SIR  EDWARD  BULWER  LITTON,  BART. 


“Then  then  we  to  her  latest  Trlbitne’s  name, 

From  her  ten  thousand  tyrants  tihin  to  thee, 

Redeemer  op  dark  centuries  of  shame  — 

The  friend  op  Petrarch — hope  op  Italy  — 

Rienzi,  last  op  Romans  I  While  the  tree 
Op  Freedom’s  wither’d  trunk  puts  forth  a  leap, 

Even  for  thy  tomb  a  garland  let  it  be  — 

The  Forum’s  champion,  and  the  people’s  chief — 

Her  new-born  Numa  thou!” 

Cfiilde  Harold,  cant,  iv.,  stanza  114. 

**  Amidst  the  indulgence  op  enthusiasm  and  eloquence,  Petrarch, 
Italy,  and  Europe,  were  astonished  by  a  revolution,  which  realized 
POB  A  moment  his  most  splendid  visions.” —  Gibbon,  chap.  Ixx. 


LIBRARY  EDITION— IN  TWO  VOLUMES 

VOL.  II. 

PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO. 
1865 


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THE 


EIENZI, 


LIBRARY 


LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNfi^ 


BOOK  FIFTH. 

THE  CRISIS. 

Questo  ha  acceso  ’1  fuoco  e  la  fiamma  laquale  non  la  par  spotegnere. —  Vit.  di 
Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  29. 

He  has  kindled  fire  and  flames  which  he  will  not  he  able  to  extinguish.  —  Lift 
of  Cola  di  Rienzi. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Judgment  of  the  Tribune. 

The  brief  words  of  the  Tribune  to  Stephen  Colonna, 
though  they  sharpened  the  rage  of  the  proud  old  noble, 
were  such  as  he  did  not  on  reflection  deem  it  prudent  to 
disobey.  Accordingly,  at  the  appointed  hour,  he  found 
himself  in  one  of  the  halls  of  the  Capitol,  with  a  gallant 
party  of  his  peers.  Rienzi  received  them  with  more  than 
his  usual  graciousness. 

They  sat  down  to  the  splendid  board  in  secret  uneasi¬ 
ness  and  alarm,  as  they  saw  that,  with  the  exception  of 
Stephen  Colonna,  none,  save  the  conspirators,  had  been 
invited  to  the  banquet.  Rienzi,  regardless  of  their  silence 


RIENZI, 


6 

and  alcistraction,  was  more  than  usually  gay  —  the  old 
Col^nna  more  than  usually  sullen. 

“We  fear  we  have  but  ill-pleased  you,  my  Lord  Co-  ’ 
lonna,  by  our  summons.  Once,  methinks,  we  might  more 
easily  provoke  you  to  a  smile.’’ 

“  Situations  are  changed.  Tribune,  since  you  were  my 
guest.” 

“Why,  scarcely  so.  I  have  risen,  but  you  have  not 
fallen.  Ye  walk  the  streets  day  and  night  in  security 
and  peace ;  your  lives  are  safe  from  the  robber,  and  your 
palaces  no  longer  need  bars  and  battlements  to  shield  you 
from  your  fellow-citizens.  I  have  risen,  but  we  all  have 
risen  —  from  barbarous  disorder  into  civilized  life  I  My 
Lord  Gianni  Colonna,  whom  we  have  made  captain  over 
Campagna,  you  will  not  refuse  a  cup  to  the  Buono  Stato  ; 
—  nor  think  we  mistrust  your  valor,  when  we  say,  that 
we  rejoice  Rome  hath  no  enemies  to  attest  your  general¬ 
ship.” 

“Methinks,”  quoth  the  old  Colonna,  bluntly,  “we  shall 
have  enemies  enough  from  Bohemia  and  Bavaria,  ere  the 
next  harvest  be  green.” 

“And,  if  so,”  replied  the  Tribune,  calmly,  “  foreign  foes 
are  better  than  civil  strife.” 

“Ay,  if  we  have  money  in  the  treasury ;  which  is  but 
little  likely,  if  we  have  many  more  such  holidays.” 

“You  are  ungracious,  my  lord,”  said  the  Tribune; 

“  and,  besides,  you  are  more  uncomplimentary  to  Rome 

than  to  ourselves.  What  citizen  would  not  part  with 

* 

gold  to  buy  fame  and  liberty  ?  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


1 


I  know  very  few  in  Rome  that  would,”  answered  the 
baron.  “But  tell  me,  Tribune,  you,  who  are  a  notable 
casuist, — which  is  the  best  for  a  state — that  its  governor 
should  be  over-thrifty  or  over-lavish  ?  ” 

“  I  refer  the  question  to  my  friend,  Luca  di  Savelli,” 
replied  Rienzi.  “  He  is  a  grand  philosopher,  and  I  wot 
well  could  explain  a  much  knottier  riddle,  which  we  will 
presently  submit  to  his  acumen.” 

The  barons,  who  had  been  much  embarassed  by  the 
bold  speech  of  the  old  Colonna,  all  turned  their  eyes  to 
Savelli,  who  answered  with  more  composure  than  was 
anticipated. 

“  The  question  admits  a  double  reply.  He  who  is  born 
a  ruler,  and  maintains  a  foreign  army,  governing  by  fear, 
should  be  penurious.  He  who  is  made  ruler,  who  courts 
the  people,  and  would  reign  by  love,  must  win  their 
affection  by  generosity,  and  dazzle  their  fancies  by  pomp. 
Such,  I  believe,  is  the  usual  maxim  in  Italy,  which  is  rife 
in  all  experience  of  state  wisdom.” 

The  barons  unanimously  applauded  the  discreet  reply 
of  Savelli,  excepting  only  the  old  Colonna. 

“  Yet  pardon  me,  Tribune,”  said  Stephen,  “if  I  depart 
from  the  courtier-like  decision  of  our  friend,  and  opine, 
though  with  all  due  respect,  that  even  a  friar’s  coarse 
serge,*  the  parade  of  humility,  would  better  become  thee, 

*  “  Vestimenta  da  Bizoco,”  was  the  phrase  used  by  Colonna  —  a 
phrase  borrowed  from  certain  heretics  (bizocchi)  who  atfected  ex¬ 
treme  austerity ;  afterwards  the  word  passed  into  a  proverb.  —  See 
the  comments  of  Zefirino  Re,  in  Vit.  di  Cola  di  Rienzi. 


8 


RIENZI, 

than  this  gaudy  pomp,  the  parade  of  pride  !  ’’  So  saying, 
he  touched  the  large  loose  sleeve  fringed  with  gold  of 
the  Tribune’s  purple  robe. 

“Hush,  father!”  said  Gianni,  Colonna’s  son,  coloring 
at  the  unprovoked  rudeness  and  dangerous  candor  of  the 
veteran. 

“Hay,  it  matters  not,”  said  the  Tribune,  with  affected 
indifference,  though  his  lip  quivered,  and  his  eye  shot 
fire ;  and  then,  after  a  pause,  he  resumed  with  an  awful 
smile  —  “  If  the  Colonna  love  the  serge  of  the  friar,  he 
may  see  enough  of  it  ere  we  part.  And  now,  my  Lord 
Savelli,  for  my  question,  which  I  pray  you  listen  to  ;  it 
demands  all  your  wit.  Is  it  best  for  a  state’s  ruler  to  be 
over-forgiviiig  or  over-just?  Take  breath  to  answer: 
you  look  faint  —  you  grow  pale  —  you  tremble  —  you 
cover  your  face  !  Traitor  and  assassin,  your  conscience 
betrays  you  I  My  lords,  relieve  your  accomplice,  and 
take  up  the  answer.” 

“Hay,  if  we  are  discovered,”  said  the  Orsini,  rising  in 
despair,  “  wm  will  not  fall  unavenged  —  die,  tyrant  1  ” 

He  rushed  to  the  place  where  Rienzi  stood  —  for  the 
Tribune  also  rose, — and  made  a  thrust  at  his  breast  with 
his  dagger ;  the  steel  pierced  the  purple  robe,  yet  glanced 
harmlessly  away  —  and  the  Tribune  regarded  the  disap¬ 
pointed  murtherer  with  a  scornful  smile. 

“  Till  yesternight,  I  never  dreamt  that  under  the  robe 
of  state,  I  should  need  the  secret  corselet,”  said  he.  “  My 
lords,  you  have  taught  me  a  dark  lesson,  and  I  thank 
ye.” 


t 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  9. 

So  saying,  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  suddenly  the 
folding-doors,  at  the  end  of  the  hall  flew  open,  and  dlsr 
covered  the  saloon  of  the  council  hung  with  silk  of  a  blood 
red,  relieved  by  rays  of  white, — the  emblem  of  crime  and 
death.  At  a  long  table  sat  the  councillors  in  their  robes  ; 
at  the  bar  stood  a  ruffian  form,  which  the  banqueters  too 
well  recognized. 

“  Bid  Rodolph  of  Saxony  approach  1  ”  said  the  Tribune 

And  led  by  two  guards,  the  robber  entered  the  hall 

‘‘Wretch,  you  then  betrayed  us!”  said  one  of  tjie 
Frangipani. 

“  Rodolph  of  Saxony  goes  ever  to  the  highest  bidder,’^ 
returned  the  miscreant,  with  a  horrid  grin.  “  You  gave 
me  gold,  and  I  would  have  slain  your  foe  ;  your  foe  de¬ 
feated  me ;  he  gives  me  life,  and  life  is  a  greater  boon 
than  gold  !  ” 

“Ye  confess  your  crime,  my  lords!  Silent!  dumb! 
Where  is  your  wit,  Savelli  ?  Where  your  pride,  Rinaldo 
di  Orsini  ?  Gianni  Colonna,  is  your  chivalry  come  to 
this  ? 

“  Oh  !  ”  continued  Rienzi,  with  deep  and  passionate 
bitterness  ;  “  oh,  my  lords,  will  nothing  conciliate  you  — 
not  to  me,  but  to  Rome  !  What  hath  been  my  sin  against 
you  and  yours  ?  Disbanded  ruffians  (such  as  your  accuser) 
—  dismantled  fortresses  —  impartial  law  —  what  man,  in 
all  the  wild  revolutions  of  Italy,  sprung  from  the  people, 
ever  yielded  less  to  their  license  ?  Not  a  coin  of  your 
coffers  touched  by  wanton  power,  —  not  a  hair  of  your 
heads  harmed  by  private  revenge.  You,  Gianni  Qolonna. 


10 


RIENZI, 


loaded  with  honors,  intrusted  with  command  —  you,  Al- 
phonso  di  Frangipani,  endowed  with  new  principalities, 
—  did  the  Tribune  remember  one  insult  he  received  from 
you  as  the  plebeian?  You  accuse  my  pride;— was  it 
my  fault  that  ye  cringed  and  fawned  upon  my  power,  — 
flattery  on  your  lips,  poison  at  your  hearts  ?  No,  /  have 
not  offended  you  ;  let  the  world  know,  that  in  me  you 
aimed  at  liberty,  justice,  law,  order,  the  restored  grandeur, 
the  renovated  rights  of  Rome  !  At  these,  the  Abstract 
and  the  Immortal  —  not  at  this  frail  form — ye  struck ;  — 
by  the  divinity  of  these  ye  are  defeated; — for  the  out¬ 
raged  majesty  of  these,  —  criminals  and  victims,  —  ye 
must  die  !  ”  ' 

W ith  these  words,  uttered  with  the  tone  and  air  that 
would  have  become  the  loftiest  spirit  of  the  ancient  city, 
Rienzi,  with  a  majestic  step,  swept  from  the  chamber 
into  the  Hall  of  Council.* 

All  that  night  the  conspirators  remained  within  that 
room,  the  doors  locked  and  guarded  ;  the  banquet  un¬ 
removed,  and  its  splendor  strangely  contrasting  the  mood 
of  the  guests. 

The  utter  prostration  and  despair  of  these  dastard 
criminals  —  so  unlike  the  knightly  nobles  of  France  and 
England,  has  been  painted  by  the  historian  in  odious  and 


*  The  guilt  of  the  barons  in  their  designed  assassination  of 
Rienzi,  though  hastily  slurred  over  by  Gibbon  and  other  modern 
writers,  is  clearly  attested  by  Muratori,  the  Bolognese  Chronicle, 
&c.  —  They  even  confessed  the  crime.  (See  Chron.  Estens.  Muratori, 
tom.  xviii.  p.  442.) 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


11 


withering  colors.  The  old  Colonna  alone  sustained  his 
impetuous  and  imperious  character.  He  strode  to  and 
fro  the  room  like  a  lion  in  his  cage,  uttering  loud  threats 
of  resentment  and  defiance  ;  and  beating  at  the  door  with 
his  clenched  hands,  demanding  egress,  and  proclaiming 
the  vengeance  of  the  pontiff. 

The  dawn  came,  slow  and  grey,  upon  that  agonized 
assembly  ;  and  just  as  the  last  star  faded  from  the  melan¬ 
choly  horizon,  and  by  the  wan  and  comfortless  heaven, 
they  regarded  each  other’s  faces,  almost  spectral  with 
anxiety  and  fear,  the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol  sounded 
the  notes  in  which  they  well  recognized  the  chime  of 
death  I  It  was  then  that  the  door  opened,  and  a  drear 
and  gloomy  procession  of  cordeliers,  one  to  each  baron, 
entered  the  apartment  I  At  that  spectacle,  we  are  told, 
the  terror  of  the  conspirators  was  so  great,  that  it  froze 
up  the  very  power  of  speech.*  The  greater  part  at 
length,  deeming  all  hope  over,  resigned  themselves  to 
their  ghostly  confessors.  But  when  the  friar  appointed 
to  Stephen  approached  that  passionate  old  man,  he  waved 
his  hand  impatiently,  and  said  —  “-Tease  me  not !  tease 
me  not !  ” 

“Hay,  son,  prepare  for  the  awful  hour.” 

“  Son,  indeed  I  ”  quoth  the  baron.  “  I  am  old  enough 
to  be  thy  grandsire  ;  and  for  the  rest,  tell  him  who  sent 
thee,  that  I  neither  am  prepared  for  death,  nor  will  pre¬ 
pare  !  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  live  these  twenty 
years,  and  longer  too; — if  I  catch  not  my  death  with 
the  cold  of  this  accursed  night.” 

*  “Diventarono  si  gelati,  che  non  poteauo  faveilare.” 


12 


RIENZI, 


Just  at  that  moment  a  cry  that  almost  seemed  to  rend 
V  the  Capitol  asunder  was  heard,  as,  with  one  voice,  the 
multitude  below  yelled  forth  — 

“  Death  to  the  conspirators  I  —  death  !  death  I  ” 

While  this  the  scene  in  that  hall,  the  Tribune  issued 
from  his  chamber,  in  which  he  had  been  closeted  with 
his  wife  and  sister.  The  noble  spirit  of  the  one,  the 
tears  and  grief  of  the  other  (who  saw  at  one  fell  stroke 
perish  the  house  of  her  betrothed),  had  not  worked  with¬ 
out  effect  upon  a  temper,  stern  and  just  indeed,  but 
naturally  averse  from  blood  ;  and  a  heart  capable  of  the 
loftiest  species  of  revenge. 

He  entered  the  council,  still  sitting,  with  a  calm  brow, 
and  even  a  cheerful  eye. 

“  Pandulfo  di  Guido,”  he  said,  turning  to  that  citizen, 
“you  are  right;  you  spoke  as  a  wise  man  and  a  patriot, 
when  you  said  that  to  cut  off  with  one  blow,  however 
merited,  the  noblest  heads  of  Rome,  would  endanger  the 
state,  sully  our  purple  with  an  indelible  stain,  and  unite 
the  nobility  of  Italy  against  us.” 

“  Such,  Tribune,  was  my  argument,  though  the  council 
have  decided  otherwise.” 

“  Hearken  to  the  shouts  of  the  populace,  you  cannot 
appease  their  honest  warmth,”  said  the  demagogue  Baron- 
celli. 

Many  of  the  council  murmured  applause. 

“  Friends,”  said  the  Tribune,  with  a  solemn  and  earnest 
aspect,  “let  not  posterity  say  that  liberty  loves  blood  ;  let 
us  for  once  adopt  the  example  and  imitate  the  mercy  of 


TUE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


13 


our  great  Redeemer  !  We  have  triumphed  —  let  us  for¬ 
bear  ;  we  are  saved  — let  us  forgive  !  ” 

The  speech  of  the  Tribune  was  supported  by  Pandulfo, 
and  others  of  the  more  mild  and  moderate  policy ;  and 
after  a  short  but  animated  discussion,  the  influence  of 
Rienzi  prevailed,  and  the  sentence  of  death  was  revoked, 
but  by  a  small  majority. 

“And  now,”  said  Rienzi,  “let  us  be  more  than  just; 
let  us  be  generous.  Speak  —  and  boldly.  Do  any  of  ye 
think  that  I  have  been  over-hard,  over-haughty  with  these 
stubborn  spirits  ? — I  read  your  answer  in  your  brows  ! — 
I  have  !  Do  any  of  ye  think  this  error  of  mine  may  have 
stirred  them  to  their  dark  revenge  ?  Do  any  of  you  deem 
that  they  partake,  as  we  do,  of  human  nature, — that  they 
are  softened  by  generosity,  — that  they  can  be  tamed  and 
disarmed  by  such  vengeance  as  is  dictated  to  noble  foes 
by  Christian  laws  ?  ” 

“I  think,”  said  Pandulfo,  after  a  pause,  “that  it  will 
not  be  in  human  nature  if  the  men  you  pardon,  thus 
offending  and  thus  convicted,  again  attempt  your  life  !  ” 

“  Methinks,”  said  Rienzi,  “  we  must  do  even  more  than 
pardon.  The  first  great  Caesar,  when  he  did  not  crush  a 
foe,  strove  to  convert  him  to  a  friend - ” 

“And  perished  by  the  attempt,”  said  Baroncelli,  ab¬ 
ruptly. 

Rienzi  started  and  changed  color. 

“  If  you  would  save  these  wretched  prisoners,  better 
not  wait  till  the  fury  of  the  mob  become  ungovernable,” 

whispered  Pandulfo. 

IL— 2 


14 


RIENZI, 


The  Tribune  roused  himself  from  his  reverie. 

“Pandulfo,”  said  he,  in  the  same  tone,  ‘‘my  heart  mis¬ 
gives  me  —  the  brood  of  serpents  are  in  my  hand  —  I  do 
not  strangle  them — they  may  sting  me  to  death,  in  return 
for  my  mercy  —  it  is  their  instinct !  ^^”0  matter:  it  shall 

not  be  said  that  the  Roman  Tribune  bought  with  so  many 
lives  his  own  safety  :  nor  shall  it  be  written  upon  my 
grave-stone,  ‘  Here  lies  the  coward,  who  did  not  dare  for¬ 
give.’  What,  ho  I  there,  officers,  unclose  the  doors  ! 
My  masters,  let  us  acquaint  the  prisoners  with  their  sen¬ 
tence.” 

With  that,  Rienzi  seated  himself  on  the  chair  of  state, 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  the  sun,  now  risen,  cast  its 
rays  over  the  blood-red  walls,  in  which  the  barons,  mar¬ 
shalled  in  order  into  the  chamber,  thought  to  read  their 
fate. 

“My  lords,”  said  the  Tribune,  “ye  have  offended  the 
laws  of  God  and  man  !  but  God  teaches  man  the  quality 
of  mercy.  Learn  at  last,  that  I  bear  a  charmed  life.  Nor 
is  he  whom,  for  high  purposes.  Heaven  hath  raised  from 
the  cottage  to  the  popular  throne,  without  invisible  aid  and 
spiritual  protection.  If  hereditary  monarchs  are  deemed 
sacred,  how  much  more  one  in  whose  power  the  divine 
hand  hath  writ  its  witness  I  Yes,  over  him  who  lives  but 
for  his  country,  whose  greatness  is  his  country’s  gift, 
whose  life  is  his  country’s  liberty,  watch  the  souls  of  the 
just,  and  the  unsleeping  eyes  of  the  sworded  seraphim  I 
Taught  by  your  late  failure  and  your  present  peril,  bid 
your  anger  against  me  cease  ;  respect  the  laws,  revere  the 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


15 


freedom  of  your  city,  and  think  that  no  state  presents  a 
nobler  spectacle  than  men  born  as  ye  are  —  a  patrician 
and  illustrious  order  —  using  your  power  to  protect  your 
city,  your  wealth  to  nurture  its  arts,  your  chivalry  to  pro¬ 
tect  its  laws  I  Take  back  your  swords — and  the  first  man 
who  strikes  against  the  liberties  of  Rome,  let  him  be  your 
victim  ;  even  though  that  victim  be  the  Tribune.  Your 
cause  has  been  tried — your  sentence  is  pronounced.  Re¬ 
new  your  oath  to  forbear  all  hostility,  private  or  public, 
against  the  government  and  the  magistrates  of  Rome, 
and  ye  are  pardoned  —  ye  are  free  I  ” 

Amazed,  bewildered,  the  barons  mechanically  bent  the 
knee  :  the  friars  who  had  received  their  confessions,  ad¬ 
ministered  the  appointed  oath  ;  and  while,  with  white  lips, 
they  muttered  the  solemn  words,  they  heard  below  the 
roar  of  the  multitude  for  their  blood. 

The  ceremony  ended,  the  Tribune  passed  into  the  ban¬ 
quet-hall,  which  conducted  to  a  balcony,  whence  he  was 
accustomed  to  address  the  people  ;  and  never,  perhaps, 
was  his  wonderful  mastery  over  the  passions  of  an  audience 
(“  ad  persuadendum  efficax  dictator,  quoque  dulcis  ac  le- 
pidus”*)  more  greatly  needed  or  more  eminently  shown, 
than  on  that  day  ;  for  the  fury  of  the  people  was  at  its 
height,  and  it  was  long  ere  he  succeeded  in  turning  it 
aside.  Before  he  concluded,  however,  every  wave  of  the 
wild  sea  lay  hushed.  — The  orator  lived  to  stand  oh  the 
same  spot,  to  plead  for  a  life  nobler  than  those  he  now 
saved,  —  and  to  plead  unheard  and  in  vain  I 


*  Petrarch  of  Rienzi. 


16 


RIENZI, 


As  soon  as  the  Tribune  saw  the  favorable  moment  had 
arrived,  the  barons  were  admitted  into  the  balcony  ; — in 
the  presence  of  the  breathless  thousands,  they  solemnly 
pledged  themselves  to  protect  the  Good  Estate.  And 
thus  the  morning  which  seemed  to  dawn  upon  their  exe¬ 
cution,  witnessed  their  reconciliation  with  the  people. 

The  crowd  dispersed,  the  majority  soothed  and  pleased  ; 

—  the  more  sagacious,  vexed  and  dissatisfied. 

“  He  has  but  increased  the  smoke  and  the  flame  which 
he  was  not  able  to  extinguish,’’  growled  Cecco  del  Yec- 
chio ;  and  the  smith’s  appropriate  saying  passed  into  a 
proverb  and  a  prophecy. 

Meanwhile,  the  Tribune,  conscious  at  least  that  he  had 
taken  the  more  generous  course,  broke  up  the  council, 
and  retired  to  the  chamber  where  Nina  and  his  sister 
waited  him.  These  beautiful  young  women  had  conceived 
for  each  other  the  tenderest  affection.  And  their  differ¬ 
ing  characters,  both  of  mind  and  feature,  seemed  by  con¬ 
trast  to  heighten  the  charms  of  both ;  as  in  a  skilful 
jewellery,  the  pearl  and  diamond  borrow  beauty  from 
each  other. 

And  as  Irene  now  turned  her  pale  countenance  and 
streaming  eyes  from  the  bosom  to  which  she  had  clung 
for  support,  the  timid  sister,  anxious,  doubtful,  wistful ; 

—  the  proud  wife,  sanguine  and  assured,  as  if  never 
diffident  of  the  intentions  nor  of  the  power  of  her  Rienzi : 

—  the  contrast  would  have  furnished  to  a  painter  no  un¬ 
worthy  incarnation  of  the  love  that  hopeth,  and  the  love 
that  feareth,  all  things. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


11 


“Be  cheered,  my  sweet  sister,”  said  the  Tribune,  first 
caught  by  Irene’s  imploring  look ;  “  not  a  hair  on  the 
heads  of  those  who  boast  the  name  of  him  thou  lovest 
so  well  is  injured.  — Thank  Heaven,”  as  his  sister,  with 
a  low  cry,  rushed  into  his  arms,  “that  it  was  against  my 
life  they  conspired !  Had  it  been  another  Homan’s, 
mercy  might  have  been  a  crime  !  Dearest,  may  Adrian 
love  thee  half  as  well  as  I ;  and  yet,  my  sister  and  my 
child,  none  can  know  thy  soft  soul  like  he  who  watched 
over  it  since  its  first  blossom  expanded  to  the  sun.  My 
poor  brother  !  had  he  lived,  your  counsel  had  been  his  ; 
and  methinks  his  gentle  spirit  often  whispers  away  the 
sternness  which,  otherwise,  would  harden  over  mine. 
Nina,  my  queen,  my  inspirer,  my  monitor — ever  thus  let 
thy  heart,  masculine  in  my  distress,  be  woman’s  in  my 
power ;  and  be  to  me,  with  Irene,  upon  earth,  what  my 
brother  is  in  heaven  I  ” 

The  Tribune,  exhausted  by  the  trials  of  the  night,  re¬ 
tired  for  a  few  hours  to  rest ;  and  as  Nina,  encircling  him 
within  her  arms,  watched  over  his  noble  countenance  — 
care  hushed,  ambition  laid  at  rest — its  serenity  had  some¬ 
thing  almost  of  sublime.  And  tears  of  that  delicious 
pride,  which  woman  sheds  for  the  hero  of  her  dreams, 
stood  heavy  in  the  wife’s  eyes,  as  she  rejoiced  more,  in 
the  deep  stillness  of  her  heart,  at  the  prerogative,  alone 
hers,  of  sharing  his  solitary  hours,  than  in  all  the  rank  to 
which  his  destiny  had  raised  her,  and  which  her  nature 
fitted  her  at  once  to  adorn  and  to  enjoy.  In  that  calm 
and  lonely  hour  she  beguiled  her  heart  by  waking  dreams, 
2  *  B 


18 


RIENZI, 

vainer  than  the  sleeper’s  ;  and  pictured  to  herself  the  long 
career  of  glory,  the  august  decline  of  peace,  which  were 
to  await  her  lord. 

And  while  she  thus  watched  and  thus  dreamed,  the 
cloud,  as  yet  no  bigger  than  a  man’s  hand,  darkened  the 
horizon  of  a  fate  whose  sunshine  was  well-nigh  past ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  flight. 

Fretting  his  proud  heart,  as  a  steed  frets  on  the  bit, 
old  Colonna  regained  his  palace.  To  him,  innocent  of 
the  proposed  crime  of  his  kin  and  compeers,  the  whole 
scene  of  the  night  and  morning  presented  but  one  feature 
of  insult  and  degradation.  Scarce  was  he  in  his  palace, 
ere  he  ordered  couriers,  in  whom  he  knew  he  could  con¬ 
fide,  to  be  in  preparation  for  his  summons.  “  This  to 
Avignon,”  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  concluded  an  epistle 
to  the  pontiff — “We  will  see  whether  the  friendship  of 
the  great  house  of  the  Colonna  will  outweigh  the  frantic 
support  of  the  rabble’s  puppet. — This  to  Palestrina, — 
the  rock  is  inaccessible  !  —  This  to  John  di  Yico,  he  may 
be  relied  upon,  traitor  though  he  be  !  —  This  to  2*^aples  ; 
the  Colonna  will  disown  the  Tribune’s  ambassador,  if  he 
throw  not  up  the  trust  and  hasten  hither,  not  a  lover  but 
a  soldier  I  —  And  may  this  find  Walter  de  Montreal  I 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


19 


Ah,  a  precious  messenger  he  sent  us,  but  I  will  forgive 
all — all,  for  a  thousand  lances.”  And  as  with  trembling 
hands  he  twined  the  silk  round  his  letters,  he  bade  his 
pages  invite  to  his  board,  next  day,  all  the  signors  who 
had  been  implicated  with  him  on  the  previous  night. 

The  barons  came  —  far  more  enraged  at  the  disgrace 
of  pardon,  than  grateful  for  the  boon  of  mercy.  Their 
fears  combined  with  their  pride  ;  and  the  shouts  of  the 
mob,  the  whine  of  the  cordeliers,  still  ringing  in  their 
ears,  they  deemed  united  resistance  the  only  course  left 
to  protect  their  lives,  and  avenge  their  affront. 

To  them  the  public  pardon  of  the  Tribune  seemed  only 
a  disguise  to  private  revenge.  All  they  believed  was, 
that  Rienzi  did  not  dare  to  destroy  them  in  the  face  of 
day ;  forgetfulness  and  forgiveness  appeared  to  them  as 
the  means  designed  to  lull  their  vigilance,  while  abasing 
their  pride  :  and  the  knowledge  of  crime  detected  forbade 
them  all  hope  of  safety.  The  hand  of  their  own  assassin 
might  be  armed  against  them,  or  they  might  be  ruined 
singly,  one  by  one,  as  was  the  common  tyrant-craft  of 
that  day.  Singularly  enough,  Luca  di  Savelli  was  the 
most  urgent  for  immediate  rebellion.  The  fear  of  death 
made  the  coward  brave. 

Tillable  even  to  conceive  the  romantic  generosity  of  the 
Tribune,  the  barons  were  yet  more  alarmed  when,  the 
next  day,  Rienzi,  summoning  them,  one  by  one,- to  a 
private  audience,  presented  them  with  gifts,  and  bade 
them  forget  the  past ;  excused  himself  rather  than  them, 
and  augmented  their  offices  and  honors. 


20 


RI  E  N  ZI, 


% 


In  the  Quixotism  of  a  heart  to  which  royalty  was 
natural,  he  thought  that  there  was  no  medium  course ; 
and  that  the  enmity  he  would  not  silence  by  death,  he 
could  crush  by  confidence  and  favors.  Such  conduct 
from  a  born  king  to  hereditary  inferiors  might  have  been 
successful ;  but  the  generosity  of  one  who  has  abruptly 
risen  over  his  lords  is  but  the  ostentation  of  insult. 
Rienzi  in  this,  and,  perhaps,  in  forgiveness  itself,  com¬ 
mitted  a  fatal  error  of  policy,  which  the  dark  sagacity 
of  a  Yisconti,  or,  in  later  times,  of  a  Borgia,  would 
never  have  perpetrated.  But  it  was  the  error  of  a  bright 
and  a  great  mind. 

Nina  was  seated  in  the  grand  saloon  of  the  palace — it 
was  the  day  of  reception  for  the  Roman  ladies. 

The  attendance  was  so  much  less  numerous  than  usual 
that  it  startled  her,  and  she  thought  there  was  a  coldness 
and  restraint  in  the  manner  of  the  visitors  present,  which 
somewhat  stung  her  vanity. 

“I  trust  we  have  not  offended  the  Signora  Colonna,” 
she  said  to  the  lady  of  Gianni,  Stephen’s  son.  “  She 
was  wont  to  grace  our  halls,  and  we  miss  much  her  stately 
presence.” 

“Madam,  my  lord’s  mother  is  unwell!” 

“  Is  she  so  ?  \Ye  will  send  for  her  more  welcome  news. 
Methinks  we  are  deserted  to-day.” 

As  she  spoke,  she  carelessly  dropped  her  handkerchief 
—  the  haughty  dame  of  the  Colonna  bent  not  —  not  a 
hand  stirred  ;  and  the  Tribunessa  looked  for  a  moment 
surprised  and  disconcerted.  Her  eye  roving  over  the 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


21 


throng,  she  perceived  several,  whom  she  knew  as  the 
wives  of  Kienzi’s  foes,  whispering  together  with  meaning 
glances,  and  more  than  one  malicious  sneer  at  her  morti¬ 
fication  was  apparent.  She  recovered  herself  instantly, 
and  said  to  the  Signora  Frangipani,  with  a  smile,  “May 
we  be  a  partaker  of  your  mirth  ?  You  seem  to  have 
chanced  on  some  gay  thought,  which  it  were  a  sin  not  to 
share  freely.” 

The  lady  she  addressed  colored  slightly,  and  replied, 
“We  were  thinking,  madam,  that  had  the  Tribune  been 
present,  his  vow  of  knighthood  would  »have  been  called 
into  requisition.” 

“And  how,  signora  ?  ” 

“  It  would  have  been  his  pleasing  duty,  madam,  to 
succor  the  distressed.”  And  the  signora  glanced  sig¬ 
nificantly  on  the  kerchief  still  on  the'  floor. 

“You  designed  me,  then,  this  slight,  signoras,”  said 
1^’ina,  rising  with  great  majesty.  “  I  know  not  whether 
your  lords  are  equally  bold  to  the  Tribune  ;  but  this  I 
know,  that  the  Tribune’s  wife  can  in  future  forgive  your 
absence.  Four  centuries  ago,  a  Frangipani  might  well 
have  stooped  to  a  Raselli ;  to-day,  the  dame  of  a  Roman 
baron  might  acknowledge  a  superior  in  the  wife  of  the 
first  magistrate  of  Rome.  I  compel  not  your  courtesy, 
nor  seek  it.” 

“  We  have  gone  too  far,”  whispered  one  of  the  ladies 
to  her  neighbor.  “  Perhaps  the  enterprise  will  not  suc¬ 
ceed  ;  and  then - ” 

Further  remark  was  cut  short  by  the  sudden  entrance 


22 


RIENZI, 


of  the  Tribune.  He  entered  with  great  haste,  and  on 
his  brow  was  that  dark  frown  which  none  ever  saw 
unquailing. 

“  How,  fair  matrons  !  ”  said  he,  looking  round  the 
room  with  a  rapid  glance,  “ye  have  not  deserted  us  yet  ? 
By  the  blessed  cross,  your  lords  pay  a  compliment  to  our 
honor,  to  leave  us  such  lovely  hostages,  or  else,  God’s 
truth,  they  are  ungrateful  husbands.  So,  madam,”  turn¬ 
ing  sharp  round  to  the  wife  of  Gianni  Colonna,  “  your  hus¬ 
band  is  fled  to  Palestrina ;  yours.  Signora  Orsini,to  Marino; 
yours  with  him,  fair  bride  of  Frangipani, — ye  came  hither 
to - .  But  2/e  are  sacred  even  from  a  word  !  ” 

The  Tribune  paused  a  moment,  evidently  striving  to 
suppress  his  emotion,  as  he  observed  the  terror  he  had 
excited  —  his  eye  fell  upon  Nina,  who,  forgetting  her 
previous  vexation,  regarded  him  with  anxious  amaze¬ 
ment.  “  Tes,”  said  he  to  her,  “you  alone,  perhaps,  of 
this  fair  assemblage,  know  not  that  the  nobles  whom  I 
lately  released  from  the  headsman’s  gripe  are  a  second 
time  forsworn.  They  have  left  home  in  the  dead  of  the 
night,  and  already  the  heralds  proclaim  them  traitors  and 
rebels.  Rienzi  forgives  no  more  !  ” 

“  Tribune,”  exclaimed  the  Signora  Frangipani,  who 
had  more  bold  blood  in  her  veins  than  her  whole  house, 
“  were  I  of  thine  own  sex,  I  would  cast  the  words,  traitor 
and  rebel,  given  to  my  lord,  in  thine  own  teeth ! — Proud 
man,  the  pontiff  soon  will  fulfil  that  office ! 

“Your  lord  is  blest  with  a  dove,  fair  one,”  said  the 
Tribune,  scornfully.  “  Ladies,  fear  not,  while  Rienzi 


.  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


23 


lives,  the  wife  even  of  his  worst  foe  is  safe  and  honored. 
The  crowd  will  be  here  anon  ;  our  guards  shall  attend  ye 
home  in  safety,  or  this  palace  may  be  your  shelter  —  for, 
I  warn  ye,  that  your  lords  have  rushed  into  a  great  peril. 
And  ere  many  days  be  past,  the  streets  of  Rome  may  be 
as  rivers  of  blood.” 

‘‘We  accept  your  offer.  Tribune,”  said  the  Signora 
Frangipani,  who  was  touched,  and,  in  spite  of  herself, 
awed  by  the  Tribune’s  manner.  And  as  she  spoke,  she 
dropped  on  one  knee,  picked  up  the  kerchief,  and,  pre¬ 
senting  it  respectfully  to  Nina,  said,  “  Madam,  forgive 
me.  I  alone  of  these  present  respect  you  more  in  danger 
than  in  pride.” 

“And  I,”  returned  Nina,  as  she  leaned  in  graceful  con¬ 
fidence  on  Rienzi’s  arm,  “  I  reply,  that  if  there  be  danger, 
the  more  need  of  pride.” 

All  that  day  and  all  that  night  rang  the  great  bell  of 
the  Capitol.  But  on  the  following  daybreak,  the  assem¬ 
blage  was  thin  and  scattered  ;  there  was  a  great  fear 
stricken  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  by  the  flight  of  the 
barons,  and  they  bitterly  and  loudly  upbraided  Rienzi 
for  sparing  them  to  this  opportunity  of  mischief.  That 
day  the  rumors  continued ;  the  murmurers  for  the  most 
part  remained  within  their  houses,  or  assembled  in  listless 
and  discontented  troops.  The  next  day  dawned ;  the 
same  lethargy  prevailed.  The  Tribune  summoned  his 
council  (which  was  a  representative  assembly). 

“  Shall  we  go  forth  as  we  are,”  said  he,  “  with  such 
few  as  will  follow  the  Roman  standard?” 


24 


RIENZI, 


“No,”  replied  Pandulfo,  who,  by  nature  timid,  was  yet 
well  acquainted  with  the  disposition  of  the  people,  and 
therefore  a  sagacious  counsellor.  “  Let  us  hold  back  ; 
let  us  wait  till  the  rebels  commit  themselves  by  some 
odious  outrage,  and  then  hatred  will  unite  the  waverers, 
and  resentment  lead  them.” 

This  counsel  prevailed  ;  the  event  proved  its  wisdom. 
To  give  excuse  and  dignity  to  the  delay,  messengers  were 
sent  to  Marino,  whither  the  chief  part  of  the  barons  had 
fled,  and  which  was  strongly  fortified,  demanding  their 
immediate  return. 

On  the  day  on  which  the  haughty  refusal  of  the  insur¬ 
gents  was  brought  to  Rienzi,  came  fugitives  from  all  parts 
of  the  Campagna.  Houses  burned  —  convents  and  vine¬ 
yards  pillaged  —  cattle  and  horses  seized  —  attested  the 
warfare  practised  by  the  barons,  and  animated  the  droop¬ 
ing  Romans,  by  showing  the  mercies  they  might  expect 
for  themselves.  That  evening,  of  their  own  accord,  the 
Romans  rushed  into  the  place  of  the  Capitol :  —  Rinaldo 
Orsini  had  seized  a  fortress  in  the  immediate  neighbor¬ 
hood  of  Rome,  and  had  set  fire  to  a  tower,  the  flames  of 
which  were  visible  to  the  city.  The  tenant  of  the  tower, 
a  noble  lady,  old  and  widowed,  was  burnt  alive.  Then 
rose  the  wild  clamor  —  the  mighty  wrath  —  the  headlong 
fury.  The  hour  for  action  had  arrived.* 

*  “Ardea  torre,  arse  la  Castelluzza  e  case,  e  uomini.  Non  si 
schifo  di  ardere  una  nobile  donna  vedova,  veterana,  in  una  torre. 
Per  tale  crudeltade  li  Romani  furo  pih  irati,”  &c. — Vit.  di  C.  di 
Reenzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  20. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


25 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Battle. 

“  I  HAVE  dreamed  a  dream,”  cried  Rienzi,  leaping  from 
his  bed.  “The  lion-hearted  Boniface,  foe  and  victim  of 
the  Colonna,  hath  appeared  to  me,  and  promised  victory.* 
Nina,  prepare  the  laurel-wreath :  this  day  victory  shall 
be  ours  I  ” 

“Oh,  Rienzi  I  to-day?” 

“Yes!  hearken  to  the  bell  —  hearken  to  the  trumpet. 
Nay,  I  hear  even  now  the  impatient  hoofs  of  my  white 
war-steed  I  One  kiss,  Nina,  ere  I  arm  for  victory, — stay 

—  comfort  poor  Irene  ;  let  me  not  see  her  —  she  weeps 
that  my  foes  are  akin  to  her  betrothed  ;  I  cannot  brook 
her  tears  ;  I  watched  her  in  her  cradle.  To-day,  I  must 
have  no  weakness  on  my  soul  1  Knaves,  twice  perjured  ! 

—  wolves,  never  to  be  tamed!  —  shall  I  meet  ye  at  last 
sword  to  sword  ?  Away,  sweet  Nina,  to  Irene,  quick  ! 
Adrian  is  at  Naples  ;  and  were  he  in  Rome,  her  lover  is 
sacred,  though  fifty  times  a  Colonna.” 

With  that,  the  Tribune  passed  into  his  wardrobe,  where 
his  pages  and  gentlemen  attended  with  his  armor.  “  I 
hear,  by  our  spies,”  said  he,  “that  they  will  be  at  our 

*  “In  questa  notte  mi  apparito  Santo  Bonifacio  Papa,”  &c. — ■ 
Vit.  di  Col.  Rim.  cap.  32. 

II.~3 


26 


RIE  N  ZI, 


gates  ere  noon — four  thousand  foot,  seven  hundred  horse¬ 
men.  We  will  give  them  a  hearty  welcome,  my  masters. 
How,  Angelo  Yillani,  my  pretty  page,  what  do  you  out 
of  your  lady’s  service  ?  ” 

“I  would  fain  see  a  warrior  arm  for  Rome,”  said  the 
boy,  with  a  boy’s  energy. 

“  Bless  thee,  my  child  I  there  spoke  one  of  Rome’s  true 
sons  !  ” 

“And  the  signora  has  promised  me  that  I  shall  go  with 
her  guard  to  the  gates,  to  hear  the  news - ” 

“And  report  the  victory? — thou  shalt.  But  they  must 
not  let  thee  come  within  shaft-shot.  What !  my  Pandulfo, 
thou  in  mail  ?  ” 

“Rome  requires  every  man,”  said  the  citizen,  whose 
weak  nerves  were  strung  by  the  contagion  of  the  general 
enthusiasm. 

“  She  doth — and  once  more  I  am  proud  to  be  a  Roman. 
Now,  gentles,  the  Dalmaticum  :*  I  would  that  every  foe 
should  know  Rienzi ;  and,  by  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  fighting 
at  the  head  of  the  imperial  people,  I  have  a  right  to  the 
imperial  robe.  Are  the  friars  prepared  ?  Our  march  to 
the  gates  shall  be  preceded  by  a  solemn  hymn — so  fought 
our  sires.” 

“  Tribune,  John  di  Yico  is  arrived  with  a  hundred  horse 

\ 

to  support  the  Good  Estate.” 

“  He  hath  !  — the  Lord  has  delivered  us  then  of  a  foe, 
and  given  our  dungeons  a  traitor! — bring  hither  yon 


*  A  robe  or  mantle  of  white,  boi’ne  by  Rienzi;  at  one  time  be- 
onging  to  the  sacerdotal  office,  afterwards  an  emblem  of  empire. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


2t 


casket,  Angelo.  —  So  —  hark  thee  I  Pandulfo,  read  this 
letter.  ” 

The  citizen  read,  with  surprise  and  consternation,  the 
answer  of  the  wily  prefect  to  the  Colonna’s  epistle. 

“He  promises  the  baron  to  desert  to  him  in  the  battle, 
with  the  prefect's  banner,’’  said  Pandulfo.  “What  is  to 
be  done  ?  ” 

“  What  I — take  my  signet — here — see  him  lodged  forth¬ 
with  in  the  prison  of  the  Capitol.  Bid  his  train  leave 
Rome,  and  if  found  acting  with  the  barons,  warn  them  that 
their  lord  dies.  Go — see  to  it  without  a  moment’s  delay. 
Meanwhile,  to  the  chapel — we  will  hear  mass.” 

Within  an  hour  the  Roman  army — vast,  miscellaneous 
. —  old  men  and  boys,  mingled  with  the  vigor  of  life,  were 
on  their  march  to  the  Gate  of  San  Lorenzo  ;  of  their 
number,  which  amounted  to  twenty  thousand  foot,  not 
one-sixth  could  be  deemed  men-at-arms ;  but  the  cavalry 
were  well  equipped,  and  consisted  of  the  lesser  barons 
and  the  more  opulent  citizens.  At  the  head  of  these  rode 
the  Tribune  in  complete  armor,  and  wearing  on  his  casque 
a  wreath  of  oak  and  olive  leaves,  wrought  in  silver.  Be¬ 
fore  him  waved  the  great  gonfalon  of  Rome,  while  in  front 
of  this  multitudinous  array  marched  a  procession  of  monks, 
of  the  order  of  St.  Francis  (for  the  ecclesiastical  body  of 
Rome  went  chiefly  with  the  popular  spirit,  and  its  enthu¬ 
siastic  leader),  slowly  chanting  the  following  hymn,  which 
was  made  inexpressibly  startling  and  imposing  at  the 
close  of  each  stanza,  by  the  clash  of  arms,  the  blast  of 


28 


RIENZI, 


trumpets,  and  the  deep  roll  of  the  drum  ;  which  formed^ 

as  it  were,  a  martial  chorus  to  the  song  : — 

* 

ROMAN  WAR-SONG. 


I. 

“March,  march  for  your  hearths  and  your  altars! 
Cursed  to  all  time  be  the  dastard  that  falters, 
Never  on  earth  may  his  sins  be  forgiven. 

Death  on  his  soul,  shut  the  portals  of  heaven! 

A  curse  on  his  heart,  and  a  curse  on  his  brain !  — 
Who  strikes  not  for  Rome,  shall  to  Rome  be  her  Cain. 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 
Spiriio  Santo,  Cavaliers  !  * 

Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 

Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 

Gaily  to  glory  we  come ; 

Like  a  king  in  his  pomp. 

To  the  blast  of  the  tromp. 

And  the  roar  of  the  mighty  drum! 

Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 
Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers! 

II. 

March,  march  for  your  Freedom  and  Laws ! 

Earth  is  your  witness  —  all  Earth’s  is  your  cause! 
Seraph  and  saint  from  their  glory  shall  heed  ye. 
The  Angel  that  smote  the  Assyrian  shall  lead  ye; 
To  the  Christ  of  the  Cross  man  is  never  so  holy 
As  in  braving  the  proud  in  defence  of  the  lowly! 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 
Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers ! 


*  Rienzi’s  word  of  battle  was  Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliere!  —  i.  e.. 
Cavalier  in  the  singular  number.  The  plural  number  has  been  em¬ 
ployed  in  the  text,  as  somewhat  more  animated,  and  therefore 
better  adapted  to  the  kind  of  poetry  into  the  service  of  which  the 
watchword  has  been  pressed. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


29 


Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 

Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 

Gaily  to  giory  we  come; 

Like  a  king  in  his  pomp, 

To  the  blast  of  the  tromp, 

And  the  roar  of  the  mighty  drum ! 

Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 

Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers ! 

III. 

March,  march!  ye  are  sons  of  the  Roman, 

The  sound  of  whose  step  was  as  fate  to  the  foeman! 
Whose  realm,  save  the  air  and  the  wave,  had  no  wall. 

As  he  strode  through  the  world,  like  a  lord  in  his  hall ; 
Though  your  fame  hath  sunk  down  to  the  night  of  the  grave 
It  shall  rise  from  the  field  like  the  sun  from  the  wave. 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 

Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers ! 

Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 

Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 

Gaily  to  glory  we  come  ; 

Like  a  king  in  his  pomp. 

To  the  blast  of  the  tromp. 

And  the  roar  of  the  mighty  drum ! 

Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 

Spirilo  Santo,  Cavaliers ! 

In  this  order  they  reached  the  wide  waste  that  rain 
and  devastation  left  within  the  gates,  and,  marshalled  in 
long  lines  on  either  side,  extending  far  down  the  vistaed 
streets,  and  leaving  a  broad  space  in  the  centre,  awaited 
the  order  of  their  leader. 

“  Throw  open  the  gates  and  admit  the  foe  !  cried 
Rienzi  with  a  loud  voice,  as  the  trumpets  of  the  barons 
announced  their  approach. 

3  * 


30 


RIEN  ZI, 


Meanwhile  the  insurgent  patricians,  who  had  marched 
that  morning  from  a  place  called  the  Monument,  four 
miles  distant,  came  gallantly  and  boldly  on. 

With  old  Stephen,  whose  great  height,  gaunt  frame, 
and  lordly  air,  showed  well  in  his  gorgeous  mail,  rode  his 
sons,  —  the  Frangipani  and  the  Savelli,  and  Giordano 
Orsini,  brother  to  Rinaldo. 

“  To-day  the  tyrant  shall  perish  I  said  the  proud 
baron;  “and  the  flag  of  the  Colonna  shall  wave  from 
the  Capitol.’’ 

“  The  flag  of  the  Bear,”  said  Giordano,  angrily.  — 
“  The  victory  will  not  be  yours  alone,  my  lord  !  ” 

“  Our  house  ever  took  precedence  in  Borne,”  replied 
the  Colonna,  haughtily. 

“  Never,  while  one  stone  of  the  palaces  of  the  Orsini 
stands  upon  another.” 

“  Hush  !  ”  said  Luca  di  Savelli ;  “  are  ye  dividing  the 
skin  while  the  lion  lives  ?  We  shall  have  fierce  work  to¬ 
day.” 

“Not  so,”  said  the  old  Colonna;  “John  di  Yico  will 
turn,  with  his  Romans,  at  the  first  onset,  and  some  of  the 
malcontents  within  have  promised  to  open  the  gates. 
How,  knave  ?  ”  as  a  scout  rode  up  breathless  to  the 
baron.  “  What  tidings  ?  ” 

“  The  gates  are  opened  —  not  a  spear  gleams  from  the 
walls  !  ” 

“Did  I  not  tell  ye,  lords  ?”  said  the  Colonna,  turning 
round  triumphantly.  “Methinks  we  shall  win  Rome 
without  a  single  blow.  —  Grandson,  where  now  are  thy 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


31 


silly  forebodings  ?  ”  This  was  said  to  Pietro,  one  of  his 
grandsons  —  the  first-born  of  Gianni  —  a  comely  youth, 
not  two  weeks  wedded,  who  made  no  reply.  ^“My  little 
Pietro  here,”  continued  the  baron,  speaking  to  his  com¬ 
rades,  “is  so  new  a  bridegroom,  that  last  night  he 
dreamed  of  his  bride  ;  and  deems  it,  poor  lad,  a  portent.” 

“  She  was  in  deep  mourning,  and  glided  from  my  arms, 
uttering,  ‘Woe,  woe  to  the  Colonna  !  ’  ”  said  the  young 
man,  solemnly. 

“  I  have  lived  nearly  ninety  years,”  replied  the  old 
man,  “  and  I  may  have  dreamed,  therefore,  some  forty 
thousand  dreams ;  of  which  two  came  true,  and  the  rest 
were  false.  Judge,  then,  what  chances  are  in  favor  of 
the  science  !  ” 

Thus  conversing,  they  approached  within  bowshot  of 
the  gates,  which  were  still  open.  All  was  silent  as  death. 
The  army,  which  was  composed  chiefly  of  foreign  merce¬ 
naries,  halted  in  deliberation  —  when,  lo  ! — a  torch  was 
suddenly  cast  on  high  over  the  walls ;  it  gleamed  a 
moment  —  and  then  hissed  in  the  miry  pool  below. 

“  It  is  the  signal  of  our  friends  within,  as  agreed  on,” 
cried  old  Colonna.  “  Pietro,  advance  with  your  com¬ 
pany  !  ”  The  young  nobleman  closed  his  vizor,  put  him¬ 
self  at  the  head  of  the  band  under  his  command  ;  and, 
with  his  lance  in  rest,  rode  in  a  half  gallop  to  the 
gates.  The  morning  had  been  clouded  and  overcast, 
and  the  sun,  apearing  only  at  intervals,  now  broke  out  in 
a  bright  stream  of  light  —  as  it  glittered  on  the  waving 
plume  and  shining  mail  of  the  young  horseman,  disap- 


32 


RI  E  N  ZI, 

pearing  under  the  gloomy  arch,  several  paces  in  ad¬ 
vance  of  his  troop.  On  swept  his  followers  —  forward 
went  the  cavalry  headed  by  Gianni  Colonna,  Pietro’s 
father.  —  There  was  a  minute’s  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  clatter  of  the  arms,  and  tramp  of  hoofs,  —  when  from 
within  the  walls  rose  the  abrupt  cry  —  “Pome,  the 
Tribune,  and  the  people  !  Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers  !  ” 
The  main  body  halted  aghast.  Suddenly  Gianni  Colonna 
was  seen  flying  backward  from  the  gate  at  full  speed. 

“My  son,  my  son!”  he  cried,  “they  have  murdered 
him;”  —  he  halted  abrupt  and  irresolute,  then  adding, 
“  But  I  will  avenge  !  ”  wheeled  round,  and  spurred  again 
through  the  arch,  —  when  a  huge  machine  of  iron,  shaped 
as  a  portcullis,  suddenly  descended  upon  the  unhappy 
father,  and  crushed  man  and  horse  to  the  ground  —  one 
blent,  mangled,  bloody  mass. 

The  old  Colonna  saw,  and  scarce  believed  his  eyes ; 
and  ere  his  troop  recovered  its  stupor,  the  machine  rose, 
and  over  the  corpse  dashed  the  popular  armament. 
Thousands  upon  thousands,  they  came  on ;  a  wild, 
clamorous,  roaring  stream.  They  poured  on  all  sides 
upon  their  enemies,  who,  drawn  up  in  steady  discipline 
and  clad  in  complete  mail,  received  and  broke  their 
charge. 

“  Revenge  and  the  Colonna  !  ”  —  “  The  Bear  and  the 
Orsini !  ” — “Charity  and  the  Frangipani!”*  “Strike 


*  Who  had  taken  their  motto  from  some  fabled  ancestor  who  had 
broke  bread  with  a  beggar  in  a  time  of  famine. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


33 


for  the  Snake  *  and  the  Savelli  !  ”  were  then  heard  on 
high,  mingled  with  the  German  and  hoarse  shout,  “  Full 
purses,  and  the  Three  Kings  of  Cologne.”  The  Romans, 
rather  ferocious  than  disciplined,  fell  butchered  in  crowds 
round  the  ranks  of  the  mercenaries  :  but  as  one  fell, 
another  succeeded ;  and  still  burst  with  undiminished 
fervor  the  counter-cry  of  ‘‘  Rome,  the  Tribune,  and  the 
People  I  —  Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers  Exposed  to 
every  shaft  and  every  sword  by  his  emblematic  diadem 
and  his  imperial  robe,  the  fierce  Rienzi  led  on  each 
assault,  wielding  an  enormous  battle-axe,  for  the  use  of 
which  the  Italians  were  celebrated,  and  which  he  regarded 
as  a  national  weapon.  Inspired  by  every  darker  and 
sterner  instinct  of  his  nature,  his  blood  heated,  his  pas¬ 
sions  aroused,  fighting  as  a  citizen  for  liberty,  as  a 
monarch  for  his  crown,  his  daring  seemed  to  the  astonished 
foe  as  that  of  one  frantic  :  his  preservation  that  of  one 
inspired  ;  now  here,  now  there  ;  wherever  flagged  his  own, 
or  failed  the  opposing,  force,  glittered  his  white  robe,  and 
rose  his  bloody  battle-axe  ;  but  his  fury  seemed  rather 
directed  against  the  chiefs  than  the  herd  ;  and  still  where 
his  charger  wheeled  was  heard  his  voice,  “  Where  is  a 
Colonna  ?  ”  —  “  Defiance  to  the  Orsini  I  ”  —  “  Spirito 
Santo,  Gavuliers  !  Three  times  was  the  sally  led  from 
the  gate  ;  three  times  were  the  Romans  beaten  back  ;  and 
on  the  third,  the  gonfalon,  borne  before  the  Tribune, 

*  The  Liou  -was,  however,  the  animal  usually  arrogated  by  the 
heraldic  vanity  of  the  Savelli. 


0 


34 


RIENZI, 


was  cloven  to  the  ground.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  he 
seemed  amazed  and  alarmed,  and,  raising  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  he  exclaimed,  “  0  Lord,  hast  thou  then  forsaken 
me  ?  ”  With  that,  taking  heart,  once  more  he  waved  his 
arm,  and  again  led  forward  his  wild  array. 

At  eve  the  battle  ceased.  Of  the  barons  who  had 
been  the  main  object  of  the  Tribune’s  assault,  the  pride 
and  boast  was  broken.  Of  the  princely  line  of  the 
Colonna,  three  lay  dead.  Giordano  Orsini  was  mortally 
wounded  ;  the  fierce  Rinaldo  had  not  shared  the  conflict. 
Of  the  Frangipani,  the  haughtiest  signors  were  no  more  ; 
and  Luca>.the  dastard  head  of  the  Savelli,  had  long  since 
saved  himself  by  flight.  On  the  other  hand,  the  slaugh¬ 
ter  of  the  citizens  had  been  prodigious ;  —  the  ground 
was  swamped  with  blood  —  and  over  heaps  of  slain 
(steeds  and  riders),  the  twilight  star  beheld  Kienzi  and 
the  Romans  returning  victors  from  the  pursuit.  Shouts 
of  rejoicing  followed  the  Tribune’s  panting  steed  through 
the  arch :  and  just  as  he  entered  the  space  within,  crowds 
of  those  whose  infirmities,  sex,  or  years,  had  not  allowed 
them  to  share  the  conflict,  —  women,  and  children,  and 
drivelling  age,  mingled  with  the  bare  feet  and  dark  robes 
of  monks  and  friars,  apprised  of  the  victory,  were  pre¬ 
pared  to  hail  his  triumph. 

Rienzi  reined  his  steed  by  the  corpse  of  the  boy  Co¬ 
lonna,  which  lay  half  immersed  in  a  pool  of  water,  and 
close  by  it,  removed  from  the  arch  where  he  had  fallen, 
lay  that  of  Gianni  Colonna  (that  Gianni  Colonna  whose 
spear  had  dismissed  his  brother’s  gentle  spirit).  He 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


35 


glanced  over  the  slain,  as  the  melancholy  Hesperus 
played  upon  the  bloody  pool  and  the  gory  corselet,  with 
a  breast  heaving  with  many  emotions ;  and  turning,  he 
saw  the  young  Angelo,  who,  with  some  of  Nina’s  guard, 
had  repaired  to  the  spot,  and  had  now  approached  the 
Tribune. 

“Child,”  said  Rienzi,  pointing  to  the  dead,  ‘'blessed 
art  thou  who  hast  no  blood  of  kindred  to  avenge!  —  to 
him  who  hath,  sooner  or  later  comes  the  hour ;  and  an 
awful  hour  it  is  I  ” 

The  words  sank  deep  into  Angelo’s  heart,  and  in  after 
life  became  words  of  fate  to  the  speaker  and  the  listener. 

Ere  Rienzi  had  well  recovered  himself,  and  as  were 
heard  around  him  the  shrieks  of  the  widows  and  mothers 
of  the  slain  —  the  groans  of  the  dying — the  exhortations 
of  the  friars  —  mingled  with  sounds  of  joy  and  triumph 
i —  a  cry  was  raised  by  the  women  and  stragglers  on  the 
battle-field  without,  of  “The  foe  I — the  foe!” 

“To  your  swords,”  cried  the  Tribune;  “fall  back  in 
order; — yet  they  cannot  be 'so  bold!” 

The  tramp  of  horses,  the  blast  of  a  trumpet,  were 
heard ;  and  presently,  at  full  speed,  some  thirty  horse¬ 
men  dashed  through  the  gate. 

“Your  bows,”  exclaimed  the  Tribune,  advancing; — ■ 
“yet  hold — the  leader  is  unarmed — it  is  our  own  bannor. 
By  our  Lady,  it  is  our  ambassador  of  Naples,  the  Lord 
Adrian  di  Gastello  !  ” 

Panting  —  breathless — covered  with  dust  —  Adrian 


36 


RI  E  N  ZI, 

halted  at  the  pool  red  with  the  blood  of  his  kindred — • 
and  their  pale  faces,  set  in  death,  glared  upon  him. 

“Too  late  —  alas!  alas!  —  dread  fate! — unhappy 
Kome ! ” 

“  They  fell  into  the  pit  they  themselves  had  digged,’’ 
said  the  Tribune,  in  a  firm  but  hollow  voice.  — “  Noble 
Adrian,  w^ould  thy  counsels  had  prevented  this  !  ” 

“Away,  proud  man — away  !  ”  said  Adrian,  impatiently 
waving  his  hand,  —  “thou  shouldst  protect  the  lives  of 

Komans,  and - oh  !  Gianni  !  —  Pietro  !  — could  not 

birth,  renown,  and  thy  green  years,  poor  boy — could  not 
these  save  ye  ?  ” 

“  Pardon  him,  my  friends,”  said  the  Tribune  to  the 
crowd, — “  his  grief  is  natural,  and  he  knows  not  all  their 
guilt. — Back,  I  pray  ye — leave  him  to  our  ministering.” 

It  might  have  fared  ill  for  Adrian,  but  for  the  Tri¬ 
bune’s  brief  speech.  And  as  the  young  lord,  dismount¬ 
ing,  now  bent  over  his  kinsmen  —  the  Tribune  also  sur¬ 
rendering  his  charger  to  his  squires,  approached,  and, 
despite  Adrian’s  reluctance  and  aversion,  drew  him 
aside, - 

“  Young  friend,”  said  he,  mournfully,  “  my  heart  bleeds 
for  you  ;  yet  bethink  thee,  the  wrath  of  the  crowd  is 
fresh  upon  them:  be  prudent.” 

“  Prudent  1  ” 

“Hush  —  by  my  honor,  these  men  were  not  worthy  of 
your  name.  Twice  perjured — once  assassins  —  twice 
rebels  —  listen  to  me  !  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


3T 


“Tribune,  I  ask  no  other  construing  of  what  I  see  — 
they  might  have  died  justly,,  or  been  butchered  foully. 
But  there  is  no  peace  between  the  executioner  of  my  race 
and  me.” 

‘Will  you,  too,  be  forsworn  ?  Thine  oath  I  —  Come, 
come,  I  hear  not  these  words.  Be  composed  —  retire  — 
and -if,  three  days  hence,  you  impute  any  other  blame  to 
me  than  that  of  unwise  lenity,  I  absolve  you  from  your 
oath,  and  you  are  free  to  be  my  foe.  The  crowd  gape 
and  gaze  upon  us  —  a  minute  more,  and  I  may  not  avail 
to  save  you.” 

The  feelings  of  the  young  patrician  were  such  as  utterly 
baffle  description.  He  had  never  been  much  amongst 
his  house,  nor  ever  received  more  than  common  courtesy 
at  their  hands.  But  lineage  is  lineage  still  I  And  there, 
in  the  fatal  hazard  of  war,  lay  the  tree  and  sapling,  the 
prime  and  hope  of  his  race.  He  felt  there  was  no  answer 
to  the  Tribune,  the  very  place  of  their  death  proved  they 
had  fallen  in  an  assault  upon  their  countrymen.  He 
sympathized  not  with  their  cause  but  their  fate.  And 
rage,  revenge,  alike  forbidden  —  his  heart  was  the  more 
softened  to  the  shock  and  paralysis  of  grief.  He  did  not 
therefore  speak,  but  continued  to  gaze  upon  the  dead, 
while  large  and  unheeded  tears  flowed  down  his  cheeks, 
and  his  attitude  of  dejection  and  sorrow  was  so  moving, 
that  the  crowd,  at  first  indignant,  now  felt  for  his  afflic¬ 
tion.  At  length  his  mind  seemed  made  up.  He  turned 
to  Rienzi,  and  said,  falteringly,  “  Tribune,  I  blame  you 
not,  nor  accuse.  If  you  have  been  rash  in  this,  God  will 
II.— 4 


38 


RIENZI, 


have  blood  for  blood.  I  wage  no  war  with  you  —  you 
say  right,  my  oath  prevent^  me  ;  and  if  you  govern  well, 
I  can  still  remember  that  I  am  a  Roman.  But  —  but — • 
look  to  that  bleeding  clay  —  we  meet  no  more  ! — your 
sister —  God  be  with  her !  —  between  her  and  me  flows  a 
dark  gulf  I  ”  The  young  noble  paused  some  moments, 
choked  by  his  emotions,  and  then  continued.  “These 
papers  discharge  me  of  my  mission.  Standard-bearers, 
lay  down  the  banner  of  the  Republic.  Tribune,  speak 
not  —  I  would  be  calm — calm.  And  so  farewell  to 
Rome.”  With  a  hurried  glance  towards  the  dead,  he 
sprang  upon  his  steed,  and,  followed  by  his  train,  vanished 
through  the  arch. 

The  Tribune  had  not  attempted  to  detain  him  —  had 
not  interrupted  him.  He  felt  that  the  young  noble  had 
thought  —  acted  as  became  him  best.  He  followed  him 
with  his  eyes. 

“And  thus,”  said  he  gloomily,  “  Fate  plucks  from  me 
my  noblest  friend  and  my  justest  counsellor  —  a  better 
man  Rome  never  lost  I  ” 

Such  is  the  eternal  doom  of  disordered  states.  The 
mediator  between  rank  and  rank, — the  kindly  noble — the 
dispassionate  patriot  —  the  first  to  act  —  the  most  hailed 
in  action — darkly  vanishes  from  the  scene.  Fiercer  and 
more  unscrupulous  spirits  alone  stalk  the  field ;  and  no 
neutral  and  harmonizing  link  remains  between  hate  and 
hate, — until  exhaustion,  sick  with  horrors,  succeeds  to 
frenzy,  and  despotism  is  welcomed  as  repose  I 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


39 


CHAPTER  lY. 

The  hollowness  of  the  base. 

The  rapid  and  busy  march  of  state  events  has  led  us 
long  away  from  the  sister  of  the  Tribune  and  the  betrothed 
of  Adrian.  And  the  sweet  thoughts  and  gentle  day¬ 
dreams  of  that  fair  and  enamoured  girl,  however  full  to 
her  of  an  interest  beyond  all  the  storms  and  perils  of 
arnbition,  are  not  so  readily  adapted  to  narration  : — their 
soft  monotony  a  few  words  can  paint.  They  knew  but 
one  image,  they  tended  to  but  one  prospect.  Shrinking 
from  the  glare  of  her  brother’s  court,  and  eclipsed,  when 
she  forced  herself  to  appear,  by  the  more  matured  and 
dazzling  beauty,  and  all-commanding  presence,  of  Nina, 
— to  her  the  pomp  and  crowd  seemed  an  unreal  pageant, 
from  which  she  retired  to  the  truth  of  life,  — the  hopes 
and  musings  of  her  own  heart.  Poor  girl  I  with  all  the 
soft  and  tender  nature  of  her  dead  brother,  and  none  of 
the  stern  genius  and  the  prodigal  ambition,  the  eye- 
fatiguing  ostentation  and  fervor  of  the  living  —  she  was 
but  ill-fitted  for  the  unquiet  but  splendid  region  to  which 
she  was  thus  suddenly  transferred. 

With  all  her  affection  for  Rienzi,  she  could  not  con¬ 
quer  a  certain  fear  which,  conjoined  with  the  difference 
of  sex  and  age,  forbade  her  to  be  communicative  with 
him  upon  the  subject  most  upon  her  heart. 


40 


RIENZI, 


Ac  the  absence  of  Adrian  at  the  I^eapolitan  court 
passed  the  anticipated  date  (for  at  no  court  then,  with  a 
throne  fiercely  disputed,  did  the  Tribune  require  a  nobler 
or  more  intelligent  representative,  —  and  intrigues  and 
counter-intrigues  delayed  his  departure  from  week  to 
week),  she  grew  uneasy  and  alarmed.  Like  many,  them¬ 
selves  unseen,  inactive,  the  spectators  of  the  scene,  she 
saw  involuntarily  further  into  the  time  than  the  deeper 
intellect  either  of  the  Tribune  or  Nina  ;  and  the  danger¬ 
ous  discontent  of  the  nobles  was  visible  and  audible  to 
her  in  looks  and  whispers,  which  reached  not  acuter  or 
more  suspected  ears  and  eyes.  Anxiously,  restlessly,  did 
she  long  for  the  return  of  Adrian,  not  from  selfish 
motives  alone,  but  from  well-founded  apprehensions  for 
her  brother.  With  Adrian  di  Gastello,  alike  a  noble  and 
a  patriot,  each  party  had  found  a  mediator,  and  his  pre¬ 
sence  grew  daily  more  needed,  till  at  length  the  conspiracy 
of  the  barons  had  broken  out.  From  that  hour  she 
scarcely  dared  to  hope  ;  her  calm  sense,  unblinded  by  the 
high- wrought  genius  which,  as  too  often  happens,  made 
the  Tribune  see  harsh  realities  through  a  false  and  bril¬ 
liant  light,  perceived  that  the  Kubicon  was  passed ;  and 
through  all  the  events  that  followed  she  could  behold  but 
two  images — danger  to  her  brother,  separation  from  her 
betrothed. 

With  Nina  alone  could  her  full  heart  confer ;  for  Nina, 
with  all  the  differences  of  character,  was  a  woman  who 
loved.  And  this  united  them.  In  the  earlier  power  of 
Rieiizi,  many  of  their  happiest  hours  had  been  passed 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


41 


together,  remote  from  the  gaudy  crowd,  alone  and  unre¬ 
strained,  in  the  summer  nights,  on  the  moonlit  balconies, 
in  that  interchange  of  thought,  sympathy,  and  consola¬ 
tion,  which  to  two  impassioned  and  guileless  women 
makes  the  most  interesting  occupation  and  the  most 
effectual  solace.  But  of  late,  this  intercourse  had  been 
much  marred.  From  the  morning  in  which  the  barons 
had  received  their  pardon  to  that  on  which  they  had 
marched  on  Rome,  had  been  one  succession  of  fierce  ex¬ 
citements.  Every  face  Irene  saw  was  clouded  and  over¬ 
cast —  all  gaiety  was  suspended  —  bustling  and  anxious 
councillors,  or  armed  soldiers,  had  for  days  been  the  only 
visitors  of  the  palace.  Rienzi  had  been  seen  but  for 
short  moments  :  his  brow  wrapt  in  care.  Nina  had  been 
more  fond,  more  caressing  than  ever,  but  in  those  caresses 
there  seemed  a  mournful  and  ominous  compassion.  The 
attempts  at  comfort  and  hope  were  succeeded  by  a  sickly 
smile  and  broken  words ;  and  Irene  was  prepared,  by  the 
presentiments  of  her  own  heart,  for  the  stroke  that  fell : 
victory  was  to  her  brother  —  his  foe  was  crushed — Rome 
was  free  —  but  the  lofty  house  of  .the  Colonnas  had  lost 
its  stateliest  props,  and  Adrian  was  gone  for  ever  !  She 
did  not  blame  him  ;  she  could  not  blame  her  brother ; 
each  had  acted  as  became  his  several  station^  She  was 
the  poor  sacrifice  of  events  and  fate  —  the  Iphigenia  to 
the  Winds  which  were  to  bear  the  bark  of  Rome  to  the 
haven,  or,  it  might  be,  to  whelm  it  in  the  abyss.  She 
was  stunned  by  the  blow  ;  she  did  not  even  weep  or  com¬ 
plain  ;  she  bowed  to  the  storm  that  swept  over  her,  and 

4  * 


42 


RIENZI, 


it  passed.  For  two  days  she  neither  took  food  nor  rest ; 
she  shut  herself  up  ;  she  asked  only  the  boon  of  solitude  : 
but  on  the  third  morning  she  recovered  as  by  a  miracle, 
for  on  the  third  morning,  the  following  letter  was  left  at 
the  palace  — 

“Irene,  —  Ere  this  you  have  learned  my  deep  cause 
of  grief;  you  feel  that  to  a  Colonna  Rome  can  no  longer 
be  a  home,  nor  Rome’s  Tribune  be  a  brother.  While  I 
write  these  words,  honor  but  feebly  supports  me  :  all  the 
hopes  I  had  formed,  all  the  prospects  I  had  pictured,  all 
the  love  I  bore  and  bear  thee,  rush  upon  my  heart,  and  I 
can  only  feel  that  I  am  wretched.  Irene,  Irene,  your 
sweet  face  rises  before  me,  and  in  those  beloved  eyes  I 
read  that  I  am  forgiven,  —  I  am  understood  ;  and  dearly 
as  I  know  thou  lovest  me,  thou  wouldst  rather  I  were 
lost  to  thee,  rather  I  were  in  the  grave  with  my  kinsmen, 
than  know  I  lived  the  reproach  of  my  order,  the  recreant 
of  my  name.  Ah  !  why  was  I  a  Colonna,  why  did  For¬ 
tune  make  me  noble,  and  nature  and  circumstance  attach 
me  to  the  people  ?  I  am  barred  alike  from  love  and 
from  revenge  ;  all  my  revenge  falls  upon  thee  and  me. 
Adored  !  we  are  perhaps  separated  for  ever ;  but,  by  all 
the  happiness  I  have  known  by  thy  side  —  by  all  the 
rapture  of  whieh  I  dreamed  —  by  that  delicious  hour 
which  first  gave  thee  to  my  gaze,  when  I  watched  the 
soft  soul  returning  to  thine  eyes  and  lip  —  by  thy  first 
blushing  confession  of  love  —  by  our  first  kiss  —  by  our 
last  farewell  —  I  swear  to  be  faithful  to  thee  to  the  last. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  43 

I^one  other  shall  ever  chase  thine  image  from  my  heart. 
And  now,  when  hope  seems  over,  Faith  becomes  doubly 
sacred ;  and  thou,  my  beautiful,  wilt  thou  not  remember 
me  ?  wilt  thou  not  feel  as  if  we  were  the  betrothed  of 
Heaven  ?  In  the  legends  of  the  North  we  are  told  of  the 
knight  who  returning  from  the  Holy  Land,  found  his 
mistress  (believing  his  death)  the  bride  of  Heaven,  and 
he  built  a  hermitage  by  the  convent  wFere  she  dw^elt ; 
and,  though  they  never  saw  each  other  more,  their  souls 
w^re  faithful  unto  death.  Even  so,  Irene,  be  we  to  each 
other  —  dead  to  all  else  —  betrothed  in  memory  —  to  be 
wedded  above  !  And  yet,  yet  ere  I  close,  one  hope 
dawns  upon  me.  Thy  brother’s  career,  bright  and  lofty, 
may  be  but  as  a  falling  star ;  should  darkness  swallow  it, 
should  his  power  cease,  should  his  throne  be  broken,  and 
Rome  know  no  more  her  Tribune;  shouldst  thou  no 
longer  have  a  brother  in  the  judge  and  destroyer  of  my 
house  ;  shouldst  thou  be  stricken  from  pomp  and  state  ; 
shouldst  thou  be  friendless,  kindredless,  alone  —  then, 
without  a  stain  on  mine  honor,  without  the  shame  and 
odium  of  receiving  power  and  happiness  from  hands  yet 
red  with  the  blood  of  my  race,  I  may  claim  thee  as  my 
ov/n.  Honor  ceases  to  command  when  thou  ceasest  to 
be  great.  I  dare  not  too  fondly  indulge  this  dream,  per¬ 
chance  it  is  a  sin  in  both.  But  it  must  be  whispered, 
that  thou  mayest  know  all  thy  Adrian,  all  his  weakness 
and  his  strength.  My  own  loved,  my  ever  loved,  loved 
more  fondly  now  w^hen  loved  despairingly,  farewell  I 


44 


RIENZI, 


May  angels  heal  thy  sorrow,  and  guard  me  from  sin,  that 
hereafter  at  least  we  may  meet  again  !  ” 

“  He  loves  me  — he  loves  me  still  !  ’’  said  the  maiden, 
weeping  at  last ;  “  and  I  am  blest  once  more  !  ” 

With  that  letter  pressed  to  her  heart  she  recovered 
outwardly  from  the  depth  of  her  affliction  ;  she  met  her 
brother  with  a  smile,  and  Nina  with  embraces:  and  if 
still  she  pined  and  sorrowed,  it  was  in  that  “conceal¬ 
ment”  which  is  the  “  worm  i’ the  bud.” 

Meanwhile,  after  the  first  flush  of  victory,  lamentation 
succeeded  to  joy  in  Rome ;  so  great  had  been  the 
slaughter,  that  the  private  grief  was  large  enough  to 
swallow  up  all  public  triumph  ;  and  many  of  the  mourners 
blamed  even  their  defender  for  the  swords  of  the  assail¬ 
ant,  “Roma  fu  terribilmente  vedovata.” *  The  numer¬ 
ous  funerals  deeply  affected  the  Tribune ;  and,  in  pro¬ 
portion  to  his  sympathy  with  his  people,  grew  his  stern 
indignation  against  the  barons.  Like  all  men  whose 
religion  is  intense,  passionate,  and  zealous,  the  Tribune 
had  little  toleration  for  those  crimes  which  went  to  the 
root  of  religion.  Perjury  was  to  him  the  most  base  and 
inexpiable  of  offences,  and  the  slain  barons  had  been 
twice  perjured :  in  the  bitterness  of  his  wrath  he  forbade 
their  families  for  some  days  to  lament  over  their  remains  ; 
and  it  was  only  in  private  and  in  secret  that  he  permitted 
them  to  be  interred  in  their  ancestral  vaults ;  an  excess 


*  Rome  was  terribly  widowed. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


45 


of  vengeance  which  sullied  his  laurels,  but  which  was 
scarcely  inconsistent  with  the  stern  patriotism  of  his 
character.  Impatient  to  finish  what  he  had  begun, 
anxious  to  march  at  once  to  Marino,  where  the  insur¬ 
gents  collected  their  shattered  force,  he  summoned  his 
council,  and  represented  the  certainty  of  victory,  and  its 
result  in  the  complete  restoration  of  peace.  But  pay 
was  due  to  the  soldiery  ;  they  already  murmured  ;  the 
treasury  was  emptied,  it  was  necessary  to  fill  it  by  raising 
a  new  tax. 

Among  the  councillors  were  some  whose  families  had 
suffered  grievously  in  the  battle  —  they  lent  a  lukewarm 
attention  to  propositions  of  continued  strife.  Others, 
among  whom  was  Pandulfo,  timid  but  well  meaning, 
aware  that  grief  and  terror  even  of  their  own  triumph 
had  produced  reaction  amongst  the  people,  declared  that 
they  would  not  venture  to  propose  a  new  tax.  A  third 
party,  headed  by  Baroncelli  —  a  demagogue  whose  am¬ 
bition  was  without  principle  —  but  who,  by  pandering  to 
the  worst  passions  of  the  populace,  by  a  sturdy  coarse¬ 
ness  of  nature  with  which  they  sympathized  —  and  by 
that  affectation  of  advancing  what  we  now  term  the 
“  movement,”  which  often  gives  to  the  fiercest  fool  an 
advantage  over  the  most  prudent  statesman,  had  quietly 
acquired  a  great  influence  with  the  lower  ranks— offered 
a  more  bold  opposition.  They  dared  even  to  blame  the 
proud  Tribune  for  the  gorgeous  extravagance  they  had 
themselves  been  the  first  to  recommend  —  and  half  in¬ 
sinuated  sinister  and  treacherous  motives  in  his  acquittal 


46 


RIENZI, 


of  the  barons  from  the  accusation  of  Rodolph.  In  the 
very  parliament  which  the  Tribune  had  revived  and 
remodelled  for  the  support  of  freedom  —  freedom  was 
abandoned.  His  fiery  eloquence  met  with  a  gloomy 
silence,  and  finally,  the  votes  were  against  his  proposi¬ 
tions  for  the  new  tax  and  the  march  to  Marino.  Rienzi 
broke  up  the  council  in  haste  and  disorder.  As  he  left 
the  hall,  a  letter  was  put  into  his  hands  ;  he  read  it,  and 
remained  for  some  moments  as  one  thunderstruck.  He 
then  summoned  the  captain  of  his  guards,  and  ordered  a 
band  of  fifty  horsemen  to  be  prepared  for  his  commands ; 
he  repaired  to  Nina’s  apartment,  he  found  her  alone, 
and  stood  for  some  moments  gazing  upon  her  so  intently 
that  she  was  awed  and  chilled  from  all  attempt  at  speech. 
At  length  he  said,  abruptly  — 

‘‘We  must  part.” 

“  Part !  ” 

“Yes,  Nina  —  your  guard  is  preparing;  you  have 
relations,  I  have  friends,  at  Florence.  Florence  must  be 
your  home.” 

“Cola - ” 

“  Look  not  on  me  thus. — In  power,  in  state,  in  safety 
—  you  were  my  ornament  and  counsellor.  Now  you  but 
embarrass  me.  And - 

“  Oh,  Cola,  speak  not  thus  I  What  hath  chanced  ?  Be 
not  so  cold  —  frown  not  —  turn  not  away!  Am  I  not 
something  more  to  thee  than  the  partner  of  joyous  hours 
i — the  minion  of  love  ?  Am  I  not  thy  wife.  Cola  —  not 
thy  leman  ?  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TEIBUNES. 


4T 


“Too  dear  —  too  dear  to  me,”  muttered  the  Tribune; 

“  with  thee  by  my  side  I  shall  be  but  half  a  Roman. 
Nina,  the  base  slaves  whom  I  myself  made  free  desert 
me. — Now,  in  the  very  hour  in  which  I  might  sweep 
away  for  ever  all  obstacles  to  the  regeneration  of  Rome 
—  now,  when  one  conquest  points  the  path  to  complete 
success  —  now  when  the  land  is  visible,  my  fortune  sud¬ 
denly  leaves  me  in  the  midst  of  the  seas  I  There  is  greater 
danger  now  than  in  the  rage  of  the  barons  —  the  barons 
are  fled  ;  it  is  the  people  who  are  becoming  traitors  to 
Rome  and  to  me.” 

“And  wouldst  thou  have  me  traitor  also  I  No,  Cola ; 
in  death  itself  Nina  shall  be  beside  thee.  Life  and  honor 
are  reflected  but  from  thee,  and  the  stroke  that  slays  the 
substance,  shall  destroy  the  humble  shadow.  I  will  not 
part  from  thee.” 

“  Nina,”  said  the  Tribune,  contending  with  strong  and 
convulsive  emotion  —  “it  may  be  literally  of  death  that 
you  speak.  Go,  leave  one  who  can  no  longer  protect 
you  or  Rome  !  ” 

“  Never —  Never.” 

“  You  are  resolved  ?  ” 

“I  am.” 

“Be  it  so,”  said  the  Tribune,  with  deep  sadness  in  his 
tone.  “Arm  thyself  for  the  worst.” 

“  There  is  no  worst  with  thee.  Cola !  ” 

“  Come  to  my  arms,  brave  woman  ;  thy  words  rebuke 
my  weakness.  But  my  sister  ! — if  I  fall,  you,  Nina,  will 
not  survive — your  beauty  a  prey  to  the  most  lustful  heart 


48 


RIEN  ZI, 

and  the  strongest  hand.  We  will  have  the  same  tomb, 
on  the  wrecks  of  Roman  liberty.  But  Irene  is  of  weaker 
mould  ;  poor  child,  I  have  robbed  her  of  a  lover,  and 
now - ” 

“You  are  right;  let  Irene  go.  And  in  truth  we  may 
well  disguise  from  her  the  real  cause  of  her  departure. 
Change  of  scene  were  best  for  her  grief ;  and  under  all 
circumstances  would  seem  decorum  to  the  curious.  I 
will  see  and  prepare  her.” 

“  Do  so,  sweetheart.  I  would  gladly  be  a  moment 
alone  with  thought.  But  remember  she  must  part  to¬ 
day —  our  sands  run  low.” 

As  the  door  closed  on  Nina,  the  Tribune  took  out  the 
letter  and  again  read  it  deliberately.  “  So  the  pope’s 
legate  left  Sienna  ;  prayed  that  republic  to  withdraw  its 
auxiliary  troops  from  Rome  —  proclaimed  me  a  rebel  and 
a  heretic ;  — thence  repaired  to  Marino ;  — now  in  council 
with  the  barons.  Why  have  my  dreams  belied  me,  then  — 
false  as  the  waking  things  that  flatter  and  betray  by  day  ? 
In  such  peril  will  the  people  forsake  me  and  themselves  ? 
Army  of  saints  and  martyrs,  shades  of  heroes  and  patriots, 
have  ye  abandoned  for  ever  your  ancient  home  ?  No  — 
no,  I  was  not  raised  to  perish  thus  ;  I  will  defeat  them 
yet,  and  leave  my  name  a  legacy  to  Rome ;  a  warning  to 
the  oppressor  —  an  example  to  the  free  I  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


40 


CHAPTER  Y. 

The  rottenness  of  the  edifice. 

The  kindly  skill  of  Nina  induced  Irene  to  believe  that 
it  was  but  the  tender  consideration  of  her  brother  to 
change  a  scene  embittered  by  her  own  thoughts,  and  in 
which  the  notoriety  of  her  engagement  with  Adrian 
exposed  her  to  all  that  could  mortify  and  embarrass,  that 
led  to  the  proposition  of  her  visit  to  Florence.  Its  sud¬ 
denness  was  ascribed  to  the  occasion  of  an  unexpected 
mission  to  Florence  (for  a  loan  of  arms  and  money), 
which  thus  gave  her  a  safe  and  honored  escort.  Passively 
she  submitted  to  what  she  herself  deemed  a  relief ;  and 
it  was  agreed  that  she  should  for  a  while  be  the  guest 
of  a  relation  of  Nina’s,  who  was  the  abbess  of  one  of 
the  wealthiest  of  the  Florentine  convents  :  the  idea  of 
monastic  seclusion  was  welcome  to  the  bruised  heart  and 
wearied  spirit. 

But  though  not  apprised  of  the  immediate  peril  of 
Rienzi,  it  was  with  deep  sadness  and  gloomy  forebodings 
that  she  returned  his  embrace  and  parting  blessing  ;  and 
when  at  length  alone  in  her  litter,  and  beyond  the  gates 
of  Rome,  she  repented  a  departure  to  which  the  chance 
of  danger  gave  the  appearance  of  desertion. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  declining  day  closed  around  the 

IF— 5  D 


50 


RIEN  ZI, 

litter  and  its  troop,  more  turbulent  actors  in  the  drama 
demand  our  audience.  The  traders  and  artisans  of 
Rome  at  that  time,  and  especially  during  the  popular 
gOYcrnment  of  Rienzi,  held  weekly  meetings  in  each  of 
the  thirteen  quarters  of  the  city ;  and  in  the  most  demo¬ 
cratic  of  these,  Cecco  del  Yecchio  was  an  oracle  and 
leader.  It  was  at  that  assembly  over  which  the  smith 
presided,  that  the  murmurs  that  preceded  the  earthquake 
were  heard. 

“  So,”  cried  one  of  the  company  —  Luigi,  the  goodly 
butcher —  “they  say  he  wanted  to  put  a  new  tax  on  us ; 
and  that  is  the  reason  he  broke  up  the  council  to-day, 
because,  good  men,  they  were  honest,  and  had  bowels  for 
the  people.  It  is  a  shame  and  a  sin  that  the  treasury 
should  be  empty.” 

“  I  told  him,”  said  the  smith,  “  to  beware  how  he 
taxed  the  people.  Poor  men  won’t  be  taxed.  But  as  he 
does  not  follow  my  advice,  he  must  take  the  consequence 
—  the  horse  runs  from  one  hand,  the  Jialter  remains  in 
the  other.” 

“  Take  your  advice,  Cecco  I  I  warrant  me  his  stomach 
is  too  high  for  that  now.  Why,  he  is  grown  as  proud  as 
a  pope.” 

“Por  all  that  he  is  a  great  man,”  said  one  of  the 
party.  “  He  gave  us  laws  —  he  rid  the  Campagna  of 
robbers  —  filled  the  streets  with  merchants,  and  the  shops 
with  wares  —  defeated  the  boldest  lords  and  fiercest 
soldiery  of  Italy - ” 

“And  now  wants  to  tax  the  people!  —  that’s  all  the 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


51 


thanks  we  get  for  helping  him,”  said  the  grumbling  Cecco, 
“  What  would  he  have  been  without  us  ?  —  we  that  make, 
can  unmake.” 

“  But,”  continued  the  advocate,  seeing  that  he  had 
his  supporters  —  “but  then  he  taxes  us  for  our  own 
liberties.” 

“  Who  strikes  at  them  now  ?  ”  asked  the  butcher. 

“  Why,  the  barons  are  daily  mustering  new  strength 
at  Marino.” 

“  Marino  is  not  Rome,”  said  Luigi,  the  butcher. 
“Let’s  wait  till  they  come  to  our  gates  again  —  we  know 
how  to  receive  them ;  though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I 
think  we  have  had  enough  fighting  —  my  two  poor 
brothers  had  each  a  stab  too  much  for  them.  Why  won’t 
the  Tribune,  if  he  he  a  great  man,  let  us  have  peace  ? 
All  we  want  now  is  quiet.” 

“Ah  !  ”  said  a  seller  of  horse-harness  ;  “  let  him  make 
it  up  with  the  barons.  They  were  good  customers 
after  all.” 

“  For  my  part,”  said  a  merry-looking  fellow,  who  had 
been  a  grave-digger  in  bad  times,  and  had  now  opened  a 
stall  of  wares  for  the  living,  “  I  could  forgive  him  all  but 
bathing  in  the  holy  vase  of  porphyry.” 

“Ah,  that  was  a  bad  job,”  said  several,  shaking  their 
heads. 

“And  the  knighthood  was  but  a  silly  show,  an’  it  were 
not  for  the  wine  from  the  horse’s  nostrils  —  that  had  some 
sense  in  it.” 

“  My  masters,”  said  Cecco,  “  the  folly  was  in  not 


52 


RIENZI, 


beheading  the  barons  when  he  had  them  all  in  the  net ) 
and  so  Messere  Baroncelli  says.  (Ah,  Baroncelli  is  an 
honest  man,  and  follows  no  half  measures  I)  It  was  a 
sort  of  treason  to  the  people  not  to  do  so.  Why,  but  for 
that,  we  should  never  have  lost  so  many  tall  fellows  by 
the  gate  of  San  Lorenzo.” 

“  True,  true,  it  was  a  shame ;  some  say  the  barons 
bought  him.” 

“And  then,”  said  another,  “those  poor  Lords  Colonna 
—  boy  and  man  —  they  were  the  best  of  the  family,  save 
the  Gastello.  I  vow  I  pitied  them.” 

“But  to  the  point,”  said  one  of  the  crowd,  the  richest 
of  the  set  •  “  the  tax  is  the  thing.  The  ingratitude  to  tax 
us.  Let  him  dare  to  do  it  I  ” 

“  Oh,  he  will  not  dare,  for  I  hear  that  the  pope’s 
bristles  are  up  at  last ;  so  he  will  only  have  us  to  depend 
upon  1  ” 

The  door  was  thrown  open  —  a  man  rushed  in  open- 
mouthed  — 

“Masters,  masters,  the  pope’s  legate  has  arrived  at 
Rome,  and  sent  for  the  Tribune,  who  has  just  left  his 
presence.” 

Ere  his  auditors  had  recovered  their  surprise,  the  sound 
of  trumpets  made  them  rush  forth ;  they  saw  Rienzi 
sweep  by  with  his  usual  cavalcade,  and  in  his  proud 
array.  The  twilight  was  advancing,  and  torch-bearers 
preceded  his  way.  Upon  his  countenance  was  deep  calm, 
but  it  was  not  the  calm  of  contentment.  He  passed  on, 
and  the  street  was  again  desolate.  Meanwhile  Rienzi 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  53 

reached  the  Capitol  in  silence,  and  mounted  to  the  apart¬ 
ments  of  the  palace,  where  Nina,  pale  and  breathless, 
awaited  his  return. 

“Well,  well,  thou  smilest !  No  —  it  is  that  dread 
smile,  worse  than  frowns.  Speak,  beloved,  speak  I  What 
said  the  cardinal  ?  ” 

“  Little  thou  wilt  love  to  hear.  He  spoke  at  first 
high,  and  solemnly,  about  the  crime  of  declaring  the 
Romans  free  ;  next  about  the  treason  of  asserting  that 
the  election  of  the  King  of  Rome  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  Romans,’^ 

“Well  —  thy  answer?” 

“  That  which  became  Rome’s  Tribune  :  I  re-asserted 
each  right,  and  proved  it.  The  cardinal  passed  to  other 
charges.  ” 

“  What  ?  ” 

“The  blood  of  the  barons  by  San  Lorenzo  —  blood 
only  shed  in  our  own  defence  against  perjured  assailants  ; 
this  is  in  reality  the  main  crime.  The  Colonna  have  the 
pope’s  ear.  Furthermore,  the  sacrilege  —  yes,  the  sacri¬ 
lege  (come  laugh,  Nina,  laugh  !)  of  bathing  in  a  vase  of 
porphyry  used  by  Constantine  while  yet  a  heathen.” 

“Can  it  be  I  What  saidst  thou?” 

“I  laughed.  ‘  Cardinal.’  quoth  I,  ‘what  was  not  too 
good  for  a  heathen  is  not  too  good  for  a  Christian 
Catholic  !  ’  And  verily  the  sour  Frenchman  looked  as 
if  I  had  smote  him  on  the  hip.  When  he  had  done,  I 
asked  him,  in  my  turn,  ‘  Is  it  alleged  against  me  that  T 
5* 


54 


RIENZI, 


have  wronged  one  man  in  my  judgment-court  ?  ’ — Silence. 

‘  Is  it  said  that  I  have  broken  one  law  of  the  state  ?  ’ — • 
Silence.  ‘Is  it  even  whispered  that  trade  does  not 
flourish  —  that  life  is  not  safe  —  that  abroad  or  at  home 
the  Roman  name  is  not  honored,  to  that  point  which  no 
former  rule  can  parallel?’ — Silence.  ‘Then,’  said  I, 
‘Lord  Cardinal,  I  demand  thy  thanks,  not  thy  censure.’ 
The  Frenchman  looked,  and  looked,  and  trembled,  and 
shrunk,  and  then  out  he  spake.  ‘  I  have  but  one  mission 
to  fulfil,  on  the  part  of  the  pontiff — resign  at  once  thy 
Tribuneship,  or  the  Church  inflicts  upon  thee  its  solemn 
curse.’  ” 

“  How  —  how  I”  said  Nina,  turning  very  pale  ;  “what 
is  it  that  awaits  thee  ?  ” 

“  Excommunication  I  ” 

This  awful  sentence,  by  which  the  spiritual  arm  had  so 
often  stricken  down  the  fiercest  foe,  came  to  Nina’s  ear 
as  a  kuell.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Rienzi 
paced  the  room  with  rapid  strides.  “The  curse,”  he 
muttered;  “the  Church’s  curse  —  for  me — for  me!” 

“  Oh,  Cola !  didst  thou  not  seek  to  pacify  this 
stern - ” 

“  Pacify  !  Death  and  dishonor  !  Pacify  !  ‘  Cardinal,’ 
I  said,  and  I  felt  his  soul  shrivel  at  my  gaze,  ‘  my  power 
I  received  from  the  people — to  the  people  alone  I  render 
it.  For  my  soul,  man’s  word  cannot  scathe  it.  Thou, 
haughty  priest,  thou  thyself  art  the  accursed,  if,  puppet 
and  tool  of  low  cabals  and  exiled  tyrants,  thou  breathest 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


55 


but  a  breath,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Justice,  for  the 
cause  of  the  oppressor,  and  against  the  rights  of  the 
oppressed.’  With  that  I  left  him,  and  now--^^^ — ” 

“Ay,  now  —  now  what  will  happen?  Excommunica¬ 
tion  I  In  the  metropolis  of  the  Church,  too — the  super¬ 
stition  of  the  people  !  Oh,  Cola  I  ” 

“If,”  muttered  Rienzi,  “ my  conscience  condemned  me 
of  one  crime  —  if  I  had  stained  my  hands  in  one  just 
man’s  blood  —  if  I  had  broken  one  law  I  myself  had 
framed  —  if  I  had  taken  bribes,  or  wronged  the  poor,  or 
scorned  the  orphan,  or  shut  my  heart  to  the  widow  — 
then,  then— but  no  !  Lord,  thou  wilt  not  desert  me  !  ” 

“  But  man  may  !  ”  thought  Mna  mournfully,  as  she 
perceived  that  one  of  Rienzi’s  dark  fits  of  fanatical  and 
mystical  reverie  was  growing  over  him  —  fits  which  he 
suffered  no  living  eye,  not  even  Nina’s,  to  witness  when 
they  gathered  to  their  height.  And  now,  indeed,  after 
a  short  interval  of  muttered  soliloquy,  fin  which  his  face 
worked  so  that  the  veins  on  his  temples  swelled  like 
cords,  he  abruptly  left  the  room,  and  sought  the  private 
oratory  connected  with  his  closet.  Over  the  emotions 
there  indulged  let  us  draw  the  veil.  Who  shall  describe 
those  awful  and  mysterious  moments,  when  man,  with  all 
his  fiery  passions,  turbulent  thoughts,  wild  hopes,  and 
despondent  fears,  demands  the  solitary  audience  of  his 
Maker  ? 

It  was  long  after  this  conference  with  Nina,  and  the 
midnight  bell  had  long  tolled,  when  Rienzi  stood  alone, 
upon  one  of  the  balconies  of  the  palace,  to  cool,  in  the 


56 


RIEN  ZI, 


starry  air,  the  fever  that  yet  lingered  on  his  exhausted 
frame.  The  night  was  exceedingly  calm,  the  air  clear, 
but  chill,  for  it  was  now  December.  He  gazed  intently 
upon  those  solemn  orbs  to  which  our  wild  credulity  has 
referred  the  prophecies  of  our  doom. 

“Yain  science!’^  thought  the  Tribune,  “and  gloomy 
fantasy,  that  man’s  fate  is  pre-ordained  —  irrevocable  — 
unchangeable,  from  the  moment  of  his  birth  I  Yet,  were 

r 

the  dream  not  baseless,  fain  would  I  know  which  of  yon 
stately  lights  is  my  natal  star,  —  which  images  —  which 
reflects — my  career  in  life,  and  the  memory  I  shall  leave 
in  death.”  As  this  thought  crossed  him,  and  his  gaze 
was  still  fixed  above,  he  saw,  as  if  made  suddenly  more 
distinct  than  the  stars  around  it,  that  rapid  and  fiery 
comet  which  in  the  winter  of  134t  dismayed  the  super- 

t 

stitions  of  those  who  recognized  in  the  stranger  of  the 
heavens  the  omen  of  disaster  and  of  woe.  He  recoiled 
as  it  met  his  eye,  and  muttered  to  himself,  “  Is  such 
indeed  my  type  !  or,  if  the  legendary  lore  speak  true,  and 
these  strange  fires  portend  nations  ruined  and  rulers  over¬ 
thrown,  does  it  foretell  my  fate  ?  I  will  think  no  more.”* 
As  his  eyes  fell,  they  rested  upon  the  colossal  Lion  of 
Basalt  in  the  place  below,  the  starlight  investing  its  grey 
and  towering  form  with  a  more  ghostly  whiteness  ;  and 
then  it  was,  that  he  perceived  two  figures  in  black  robes 
lingering  by  the  pedestal  which  supported  the  statue,  and 

*  Alas  !  if  by  the  Romans  associated  with  the  fall  of  Rienzi, 
that  comet  was  by  the  rest  of  Europe  connected  with  the  more 
dire  calamity  of  the  Great  Plague  that  so  soon  afterwards  ensued. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  51 

apparently  engaged  in  some  occupation  which  he  could 
not  guess.  A  fear  shot  through  his  veins,  for  he  had 
never  been  able  to  divest  himself  of  the  vague  idea  that 
there  was  some  solemn  and  appointed  connection  between 
his  fate  and  that  old  Lion  of  Basalt.  Somewhat  relieved, 
he  heard  his  sentry  challenge  the  intruders  ;  and  as  they 
came  forward  to  the  light,  he  perceived  that  they  wore 
the  garments  of  monks. 

“Molest  us  not,  son,”  said  one  of  them  to  the  sentry. 
“  By  order  of  the  legate  of  the  holy  father,  we  affix  to 
this  public  monument  of  justice  and  of  wrath,  the  bull  of 
excommunication  against  a  heretic  and  rebel.  Woe  to 
THE  Accursed  of  the  Church  I  ” 


CHAPTER  YI. 

The  Fall  of  the  Temple. 

It  was  a  thunderbolt  in  a  serene  day  —  the  reverse  of 
the  Tribune  in  the  zenith  of  his  power,  in  the  abasement 
of  his  foe  ;  when,  with  but  a  handful  of  brave  Romans, 
determined  to  be  free,  he  might  have  crushed  for  ever 
the  antagonist  power  to  the  Roman  liberties  —  have 
secured  the  rights  of  his  country,  and  filled  up  the 
measure  of  his  own  renown.  Such  a  reverse  was  the  very 
mockery  of  Fate,  who  bore  him  through  disaster,  to 
abandon  him  in  the  sunniest  noon  of  his  prosperity. 

The  next  morning  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen  in  the 


68 


RIENZI, 


streets ;  the  shops  were  shut  —  the  churches  closed  ;  the 
city  was  as  under  an  interdiet.  The  awful  curse  of  the 
papal  excommunication  upon  the  chief  magistrate  of  the 
Pontifical  City,  seemed  to  freeze  up  all  the  arteries  of 
life.  The  legate  himself,  affecting  fear  of  his  life,  had 
fled  to  Monte  Piascone,  where  he  was  joined  by  the 
barons  immediately  after  the  publication  of  the  edict. 
The  curse  worked  best  in  the  absence  of  the  execrator. 

Towards  evening  a  few  persons  might  be  seen  travers¬ 
ing  the  broad  space  of  the  Capitol,  crossing  themselves, 
as  the  bull,  placarded  on  the  Lion,  met  their  eyes,  and 
disappearing  within  the  doors  of  the  great  palace.  By- 
and-by,  a  few  anxious  groups  collected  in  the  streets,  but 
they  soon  dispersed.  It  was  a  paralysis  of  all  intercourse 
and  commune.  That  spiritual  and  unarmed  authority, 
which,  like  the  invisible  hand  of  God,  desolated  the 
market-place,  and  humbled  the  crowned  head,  no  physical 
force  could  rally  against  or  resist.  Yet,  through  the 
universal  awe,  one  conviction  touched  the  multitude  —  it 
was  for  them  that  their  Tribune  was  thus  blasted  in  the 
midst  of  his  glories  !  The  words  of  the  brand  recorded 
against  him  on  wall  and  column  detailed  his  offences  :  — 
rebellion  in  asserting  the  liberties  of  Rome  —  heresy  in 
purifying  ecclesiastical  abuses ;  —  and,  to  serve  for  a 
miserable  covert  to  the  rest,  it  was  sacrilege  for  bathing 
in  the  porphyry  vase  of  Constantine  I  They  felt  the  con¬ 
viction  ;  they  sighed  —  they  shuddered  —  and,  in  his  vast 
palace,  save  a  few  attached  and  devoted  hearts,  the  Tri¬ 
bune  was  alone  I 


T  HE  LAST  U  F  THE  TRIBUNES. 


50 


The  staunchest  of  his  Tuscan  soldiery  were  gone  with 
Irene.  The  rest  of  his  force,  save  a  few  remaining 
guards,  was  the  paid  Roman  militia,  composed  of  citizens, 
who,  long  discontented  by  the  delay  of  their  stipends,  now 
seized  on  the  excuse  of  the  excommunication  to  remain 
passive  but  grumbling  in  their  homes. 

On  the  third  day,  a  new  incident  broke  upon  the  death¬ 
like  lethargy  of  the  city ;  a  hundred  and  fifty  mercenaries, 
with  Pepin  of  Minorbino,  a  I^eapolitan,  half  noble,  half 
bandit  (a  creature  of  Montreal’s),  at  their  head,  entered 
the  city,  seized  upon  the  fortresses  of  the  Colonna,  and 
sent  a  herald  through  the  city,  proclaiming,  in  the  name 
of  the  cardinal  legate,  the  reward  of  ten  thousand  florins 
for  the  head  of  Cola  di  Rienzi. 

Then  swelled  on  high,  shrill  but  not  inspiring  as  of 
old,  the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol  —  the  people,  listless, 
disheartened,  awed  by  the  spiritual  fear  of  the  papal  au¬ 
thority  (yet  greater,  in  such  events,  since  the  removal  of 
the  see),  came  unarmed  to  the  Capitol ;  and  there,  by  the 
Place  of  the  Lion,  stood  the  Tribune.  His  squires, 
below  the  step,  held  his  war-horse,  his  helm,  and  the 
same  battle-axe  which  had  blazed  in  the  van  of  victorious 
war. 

Beside  him  were  a  few  of  his  guard,  his  attendants,  and 
two  or  three  of  the  principal  citizens. 

He  stood  bareheaded  and  erect,  gazing  upon  the 
abashed  and  unarmed  crowd  with  a  look  of  bitter  scorn, 
mingled  with  deed  compassion ;  and,  as  the  bell  ceased 


60  RIENZI, 

its  toll,  and  the  throng  remained  hushed  and  listening,  he 
thus  spoke :  — 

“  Ye  come,  then,  once  again  !  Come  ye  as  slaves  or 
freemen  ?  A  handful  of  armed  men  are  in  your  walls : 
will  ye  who  chased  from  your  gates  the  haughtiest  knights 
—  the  most  practised  battlenien  of  Rome,  succumb  now 
to  one  hundred  and  fifty  hirelings  and  strangers  ?  Will 
you  arm  for  your  Tribune  ?  You  are  silent  I  —  be  it  so. 
Will  ye  arm  for  your  own  liberties  —  your  own  Rome  I 
Silent  still !  By  the  saints  that  reign  on  the  thrones  of 
the  heathen  gods  !  are  ye  thus  fallen  from  your  birth¬ 
right  ?  Have  you  no  arms  for  your  own  defence  ?  Ro¬ 
mans,  hear  me  !  Have  I  wronged  you  ?  —  if  so,  by  your 
hands  let  me  die  :  and  then,  with  knives  yet  reeking  with 
my  blood,  go  forward  against  the  robber  who  is  but  the 
herald  of  your  slavery ;  and  I  die,  honored,  grateful,  and 
avenged.  You  weep  !  Great  God  !  you  weep  !  Ay,  and 
I  could  weep,  too  —  that  I  should  live  to  speak  of  liberty 
in  vain  to  Romans  —  Weep  !  is  this  an  hour  for  tears  ? 
Weep  now,  and  your  tears  shall  ripen  harvests  of  crime, 
and  license,  and  despotism,  to  come  !  Romans,  arm  ! 
follow  me  at  once  to  the  Place  of  the  Colonna  ;  expel 
this  ruffian  —  expel  your  enemy  (no  matter  what  after¬ 
wards  you  do  to  me)  ;  ”  he  paused  ;  no  ardor  was  kindled 
by  his  words  —  “or,”  he  continued,  “I  abandon  you  to 
your  fate,”  There  was  a  long,  low,  general  murmur  ;  at 
length  it  became  shaped  into  speech,  and  many  voices 
cried  simultaneously  :  “  The  pope’s  bull !  —  Thou  art  a 
man  accursed  !  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


61 


“  What !  ’’  cried  the  Tribune,  “  and  is  it  ye  who  forsake 
me,  ye  for  whose  cause  alone  man  dares  to  hurl  against 
me  the  thunders  of  his  God  ?  Is  it  not  for  you  that  I  am 
declared  heretic  and  rebel !  What  are  my  imputed 
crimes  ?  That  I  have  made  Rome  and  asserted  Italy 
to  be  free  ;  that  I  have  subdued  the  proud  magnates, 
who  were  the  scourge  both  of  pope  and  people.  And 
you  —  you  upbraid  me  with  what  I  have  dared  and  done 
for  you  I  Men,  with  you  I  would  have  fought,  for  you 
I  would  have  perished.  You  forsake  yourselves  in  for¬ 
saking  me,  and  since  I  no  longer  rule  over  brave  men,  I 
resign  my  power  to  the  tyrant  you  prefer.  Seven  months 
I  have  ruled  over  you,  prosperous  in  commerce,  stainless 
in  justice  —  victorious  in  the  field  :  —  I  have  shown  you 
what  Rome  could  be  ;  and,  since  I  abdicate  the  govern¬ 
ment  ye  gave  me,  when  I  am  gone,  strike  for  your  own 
freedom  I  It  matters  nothing  who  is  the  chief  of  a  brave 
and  great  people.  Prove  that  Rome  hath  many  a 
Rienzi,  but  of  brighter  fortunes.” 

“  I  would  he  had  not  sought  to  tax  us,”  said  Cecco  del 
Yecchio,  who  was  the  very  personification  of  the  vulgar 
feeling  ;  “  and  that  he  had  beheaded  the  barons  !  ” 

“Ay  !  ”  cried  the  ex-gravedigger ;  “  but  that  blessed 
porphyry  vase  I  ” 

“And  why  should  we  get  our  throats  cut,”  said  Luigi, 
the  butcher,  “like  my  two  brothers — Heaven  rest  them  I  ” 
On  the  face  of  the  general  multitude  there  was  a 
common  expression  of  irresolution  and  shame,  many  wept 
and  groaned,  none  (save  the  aforesaid  grumblers)  ac- 
II.  — 6 


62 


RIENZI, 


cused;  none  upbraided,  but  none  seemed  disposed  to  arm. 
It  was  one  of  those  listless  panics,  those  strange  fits  of 
indifference  and  lethargy  which  often  seize  upon  a  people 
who  make  liberty  a  matter  of  impulse  and  caprice,  to 
whom  it  has  become  a  catchword,  who  have  not  long  en¬ 
joyed  all  its  rational,  and  sound,  and  practical,  and 
blessed  results ;  who  have  been  afifrayed  by  the  storms 
that  herald  its  dawn  ;  —  a  people  such  as  is  common  to 
the  south  ;  such  as  even  the  north  has  known  ;  such  as, 
had  Cromwell  lived  a  year  longer,  even  England  might 
have  seen ;  and,  indeed,  in  some  measure,  such  a  reaction 
from  popular  enthusiasm  to  popular  indifference  England 
did  see,  when  her  children  madly  surrendered  the  fruits 
of  a  bloody  war,  without  reserve,  without  foresight,  to 
the  lewd  pensioner  of  Louis,  and  the  royal  murderer  of 
Sydney.  To  such  prostration  of  soul,  such  blindness  of 
intellect,  even  the  noblest  people  will  be  subjected,  when 
liberty,  which  should  be  the  growth  ofi  ages,  spreading  its 
roots  through  the  strata  of  a  thousand  customs,  is  raised, 
the  exotic  of  an  hour,  and  (like  the  Tree  and  Dryad  of 
ancient  fable)  flourishes  and  withers  with  the  single  spirit 
that  protects  it. 

“  Oh,  Heaven,  that  I  were  a  man  I  ’’  exclaimed  Angelo, 
who  stood  behind  Rienzi. 

Hear  him,  hear  the  boy,”  cried  the  Tribune  ;  “  out  of 
the  mouths  of  babes  speaketh  wisdom  I  He  wishes  that 
he  were  a  man,  as  ye  are  men,  that  he  might  do  as  ye 
should  do.  Mark  me,  —  I  ride  with  these  faithful  few 
through  the  quarter  of  the  Colonna,  before  the  fortress 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  63 

of  your  foe.  Three  times  before  that  fortress  shall  my 
trumpets  sound  ;  if  at  the  third  blast  ye  come  not,  armed 
as  befits  ye  —  I  say  not  all,  but  three,  but  two,  but  one 
hundred  of  ye  —  I  break  up  my  wand  of  office,  and  the 
world  shall  say,  one  hundred  and  fifty  robbers  quelled  the 
soul  of  Rome,  and  crushed  her  magistrate  and  her  laws  I  ’’ 

With  those  words  he  descended  the  stairs  and  mounted 
his  charger ;  the  populace  gave  way  in  silence,  and  their 
Tribune  and  his  slender  train  passed  slowly  on,  and 
gradually  vanished  from  the  view  of  the  increasing  crowd. 

The  Romans  remained  on  the  place,  and  after  a  pause, 
the  demagogue  Baroncelli,  who  saw  an  opening  to  his 
ambition,  addressed  them.  Though  not  an  eloquent  nor 
gifted  man,  he  had  the  art  of  uttering  the  most  popular 
commonplaces.  And  he  knew  the  weak  side  of  his  audi¬ 
ence,  in  their  vanity,  indolence,  and  arrogant  pride. 

“  Look  you,  my  masters,”  said  he,  leaping  up  to  the 
Place  of  the  Lion;  “the  Tribune  talks  bravely  —  he 
always  did  —  but  the  monkey  used  the  cat  for  his  chest¬ 
nuts  ;  he  wants  to  thrust  your  paws  into  the  fire  ;  you  will 
not  be  so  silly  as  to  let  him.  The  saints  bless  us  !  but 
the  Tribune,  good  man,  gets  a  palace  and  has  banquets, 
and  bathes  in  a  porphyry  vase  ;  the  more  shame  on  him  I 
. —  in  which  San  Sylvester  christened  the  Emperor  Con¬ 
stantine;  all  this  is  worth  fighting  for;  but  you,  my 
masters,  what  do  you  get,  except  hard  blows  and  a  stare 
at  a  holiday  spectacle  ?  Why,  if  you  beat  these  fellows, 
you  will  have  another  tax  on  the  wine ;  that  will  be  your 
reward  I  ” 


6^ 


RIENZI, 


‘‘Hark  I  ”  cried  Cecco,  “there  sounds  the  trumpet,— 
a  pity  he  wanted  to  tax  us  I  ” 

“True,’’  cried  Baroncelli,  “there  sounds  the  trumpet; 
a  silver  trumpet,  by  the  Lord  I  Next  week,  if  you  help 
him  out  of  the  scrape,  he’ll  have  a  golden  one.  But  go 

—  why  don’t  you  move,  my  friends?  —  ’tis  but  one 
hundred  and  fifty  mercenaries.  True,  they  are  devils  to 
fight,  clad  in  armor  from  top  to  toe  ;  but  what  then  ?  — • 
if  they  do  cut  some  four  or  five  hundred  throats,  you’ll 
beat  them  at  last,  and  the  Tribune  will  sup  the  merrier.” 

“  There  sounds  the  second  blast,”  said  the  butcher. 
“  If  my  old  mother  had  not  lost  two  of  us  already,  ’tis 
odds,  but  I’d  strike  a  blow  for  the  bold  Tribune.” 

“You  had  better  put  more  quicksilver  in  you,”  con¬ 
tinued  Baroncelli,  “  or  you  will  be  too  late.  And  what 
a  pity  that  will  be  I  —  If  you  believe  the  Tribune,  he  is 
the  only  man  that  can  save  Home.  What,  you,  the  finest 
people  in  the  world  —  you,  not  able  to  save  yourselves  I 

—  you,  bound  up  with  one  man  —  you,  not  able  to  dic¬ 
tate  to  the  Colonna  and  Orsini  I  Why,  who  beat  the 
barons  at  San  Lorenzo  ?  Was  it  not  you  ?  Ah  I  you 
got  the  bulfets,  and  the  Tribune  the  moneta  !  Tush,  my 
friends,  let  the  man  go  ;  I  warrant  there  are  plenty  as 
good  as  he  to  be  bought  a  cheaper  bargain.  And,  hark  I 
there  is  the  third  blast ;  it  is  too  late  now  I  ” 

As  the  trumpet  from  the  distance  sent  forth  its  long 
and  melancholy  note,  it  was  as  the  last  warning  of  the 
parting  genius  of  the  place  ;  and  when  silence  swallowed 
up  the  sound,  a  gloom  fell  over  the  whole  assembly. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


65 


They  began  to  regret,  to  repent,  when  regret  and  repent¬ 
ance  availed  no  more.  The  buffoonery  of  Baroncelli 

•n* 

became  suddenly  displeasing ;  and  the  orator  had  the 
mortification  of  seeing  his  audience  disperse  in  all  direc¬ 
tions,  just  as  he  was  about  to  inform  them  what  great 
things  he  himself  could  do  in  their  behalf. 

Meanwhile  the  Tribune,  passing  unscathed  through  the 
dangerous  quarter  of  the  enemy,  who,  dismayed  at  his 
approach,  shrank  within  their  fortress,  proceeded  to  the 
castle  of  St.  Angelo,  whither  Nina  had  already  preceded 
him  ;  and  which  he  entered  to  find  that  proud  lady  with  a 
smile  for  his  safety,  —  without  a  tear  for  his  reverse. 


CHAPTER  YII. 

The  successors  of  an  unsuccessful  revolution. — Who  is  to  blame — 
the  forsaken  one  or  the  forsakers? 

Cheerfully  broke  the  winter  sun  over  the  streets  of 
Rome,  as  the  army  of  the  barons  swept  along  them.  The 
cardinal  legate  at  the  head  ;  the  old  Colonna  (no  longer 
haughty  and  erect,  but  bowed  and  broken-hearted  at  the 
loss  of  his  sons)  at  his  right  hand  ;  —  the  sleek  smile  of 
Luca  Savelli  —  the  black  frown  of  Rinaldo  Orsini,  were 
seen  close  behind.  A  long  but  barbarous  array  it  was  ; 
made  up  chiefly  of  foreign  hirelings  ;  nor  did  the  proces¬ 
sion  resemble  the  return  of  exiled  citizens,  but  the  march 
of  invading  foes. 

6* 


e 


C6 


RIENZI, 


“My  Lord  Colonna,”  said  the  cardinal  legate,  a  small 
withered  man,  by  birth  a  Frenchman,  and  full  of  the  bit¬ 
terest  prejudices  against  the  Romans,  who  had  in  a  for¬ 
mer  mission  very  ill  received  him,  as  was  their  wont  with 
foreign  ecclesiastics;  “this  Pepin,  whom  Montreal  has 
deputed  at  your  orders,  hath  done  us  indeed  good  ser¬ 
vice.” 

The  old  lord  bowed,  but  made  lio  answer.  His  strong 
intellect  was  already  broken,  and  there  was  dotage  in  his 
glassy  eye.  The  cardinal  muttered,  “  He  hears  me  not ; 
sorrow  hath  brought  him  to  second  childhood  I  ”  and 
looking  back,  motioned  to  Luca  Savelli  to  approach. 

“Luca,”  said  the  legate,  “it  was  fortunate  that  the 
Hungarian’s  black  banner  detained  the  Provencal  at 
Aversa.  Had  he  entered  Rome,  we  might  have  found 
Rienzi’s  successor  worse  than  the  Tribune  himself.  Mont¬ 
real,”  he  added,  with  a  slight  emphasis  and  a  curled  lip, 
“is  a  gentleman  and  a  Frenchman.  This  Pepin,  who  is 
his  delegate,  we  must  bribe,  or  menace  to  our  will.” 

“Assuredly,”  answered  Savelli,  “it  is  not  a  difficult 
task :  for  Montreal  calculated  on  a  more  stubborn  con¬ 
test,  which  he  himself  would  have  found  leisure  to 
close - ■” 

“  As  Podesta,  or  Prince  of  Rome  I  the  modest  man  I 
We  Frenchmen  have  a  due  sense  of  our  own  merits  I  but 
this  sudden  victory  surprises  him  as  it  doth  us,  Luca  ;  and 
we  shall  wrest  the  prey  from  Pepin,  ere  Montreal  can 
come  to  his  help  1  But  Rienzi  must  die.  He  is  still,  I 
hear,  shut  up  in  St.  Angelo.  The  Orsini  shall  storm  him 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  6"! 

there  ere  the  day  be  much  older.  To-day  we  possess  the 
Capitol — annul  all  the  rebel’s  laws — break  up  his  ridicu¬ 
lous  parliament,  and  put  all  the  government  of  the  city 
under  three  senators  —  Rinaldo  Orsini,  Colonna,  and  my¬ 
self  ;  you,  my  lord,  I  trust,  we  shall  fitly  provide  for.” 

“  Oh  !  I  am  rewarded  enough  by  returning  to  my  pal¬ 
ace  ;  and  a  descent  on  the  jewellers’  quarter  will  soon 
build  up  its  fortifications.  Luca  Savelli  is  not  an  ambitious 
man.  He  wants  but  to  live  in  peace.” 

The  cardinal  smiled  sourly,  and  took  the  turn  towards 
the  Capitol. 

In  the  front  space  the  usual  gapers  were  assembled. 

Make  way  !  make  way  I  knaves  1  ”  cried  the  guards, 
trampling  on  either  side  the  crowd,  who,  accustomed  to 
the  sedate  and  courteous  order  of  Rienzi’s  guard,  fell  back 
too  slowly  for  many  of  them  to  escape  severe  injury  from 
the  pikes  of  the  soldiers  and  the  hoofs  of  the  horses.  Our 
friend,  Luigi,  the  butcher,  was  one  of  these,  and  the  sur¬ 
liness  of  the  Roman  blood  was  past  boiling-heat  when  he 
received  in  his  ample  stomach  the  blunt  end  of  a  Cerman’s 
pike.’  “  There,  Roman,”  said  the  rude  mercenary,  in  his 
barbarous  attempt  at  Italian,  “make  way  for  your  bet¬ 
ters  ;  you  have  had  enough  crowds  and  shows  of  late,  in 
all  conscience.” 

“Betters  !”  gulped  out  the  poor  butcher  ;  “a  Roman 
has  no  betters  ;  and  if  I  had  not  lost  two  brothers  by  San 
Lorenzo,  I  would - ” 

“  The  dog  is  mutinous,”  said  one  of  the  followers  of  the 


68 


RIENZI, 

Orsini,  succeeding  the  German  who  had  passed  on,  “  and 
talks  of  San  Lorenzo  !  ” 

“  Oh  !  ”  said  another  Orsinist,  who  rode  abreast,  “  I 
remember  him  of  old.  He  was  one  of  Rienzi’s  gang.’’ 

“Was  he?”  said  the  other,  sternly;  “then  we  cannot 
begin  salutary  examples  too  soon ;  ”  and,  offended  at 
something  swaggering  and  insolent  in  the  butcher’s  look, 
the  Orsinist  coolly  thrust  him  through  the  heart  with  his 
pike,  and  rode  on  over  his  body. 

“  Shame  I  Shame  !  ”  “  Murder  !  Murder  I  ”  cried  the 
crowd  :  and  they  began  to  press,  in  the  passion  of  the 
moment,  round  the  fierce  guards. 

The  legate  heard  the  cry,  and  saw  the  rush :  he  turned 
pale.  “  The  rascals  rebel  again  !  ”  he  faltered. 

“Ho,  your  eminence — no,”  said  Luca;  “but  it  may  be 
as  well  to  infuse  a  wholesome  terror ;  they  are  all  un¬ 
armed  ;  let  me  bid  the  guards  disperse  them.  A  word 
will  do  it.” 

The  cardinal  assented ;  the  word  was  given  ;  and,  in  a 
few  minutes,  the  soldiery,  who  still  smarted  under  the 
vindictive  memory  of  defeat  from  an  undisciplined  multi¬ 
tude,  scattered  the  crowd  down  the  streets  without  scruple 
or  mercy — riding  over  some,  spearing  others — filling  the 
air  with  shrieks  and  yells,  and  strewing  the  ground  with 
almost  as  many  men  as  a  few  days  before  would  have  suf¬ 
ficed  to  have  guarded  Rome  and  preserved  the  constitu¬ 
tion  I  Through,  this  wild,  tumultuous  scene,  and  over 
the  bodies  of  its  victims,  rode  the  legate  and  his  train,  to 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


6^ 


receive  in  the  Hall  of  the  Capitol  the  allegiance  of  the 
citizens,  and  to  proclaim  the  return  of  the  oppressors. 

As  they  dismounted  at  the  stairs,  a  placard  in  large 
letters  struck  the  eye  of  the  legate.  It  was  placed  upon 
the  pedestal  of  the  Lion  of  Basalt,  covering  the  very  place 
that  had  been  occupied  by  the  bull  of  excommunication. 
The  words  were  few,  and  ran  thus : 

“Tremble!  Hienzi  shall  return?” 

“  How  I  what  means  this  mummery  I  ”  cried  the  legate, 
trembling  already,  and  looking  round  to  the  nobles. 

“Please  your  eminence,”  said  one  of  the  councillors, 
who  had  come  from  the  Capitol  to  meet  the  legate,  “  we 
saw  it  at  daybreak,  the  ink  yet  moist,  as  we  entered  the 
hall.  We  deemed  it  best  to  leave  it  for  your  eminence 
to  deal  with.” 

“Fow  deemed  I  Who  are  you,  then  ?” 

“  One  of  the  members  of  the  council,  your  eminence, 
and  a  stanch  opponent  of  the  Tribune,  as  is  well  known, 
when  he  wanted  the  new  tax - ” 

“  Council  —  trash  !  No  more  councils  now  I  Order  is 
restored  at  last.  The  Orsini  and  the  Colonna  will  look 
to  you  in  future.  Resist  a  tax,  did  you  ?  Well,  that  was 
right  when  proposed  by  a  tyrant ;  but  I  warn  you,  friend, 
to  take  care  how  you  resist  the  tax  we  shall  impose. 
Happy  if  your  city  can  buy  its  peace  with  the  church  on 
any  terms  :  —  and  his  holiness  is  short  of  the  florins.” 

The  discomfited  councillor  shrank  back. 

“  Tear  ofi*  yon  insolent  placard.  Nay,  hold  !  fix  over 
it  our  proclamation  of  ten  thousand  florins  for  the  heretic’s 


TO 


RIENZI, 

head  !  Ten  thousand  ?  methinks  that  is  too  much  now 
—  we  will  alter  the  cipher.  Meanwhile  Rinaldo  Orsini, 
lord  senator,  march  thy  soldiers  to  St.  Angelo  ;  let  us  see 
if  the  heretic  can  stand  a  siege.” 

‘‘  It  needs  not,  your  eminence,”  said  the  councillor, 
again  officiously  bustling  up  ;  ‘‘  St.  Angelo  is  surrendered. 
The  Tribune,  his  wife,  and  one  page,  escaped  last  night, 
it  is  said,  in  disguise.” 

“  Ha  I  ”  said  the  old  Colonna,  whose  dulled  sense  had 
at  length  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  something  extra-  , 
ordinary  arrested  the  progress  of  his  friends.  “  What  is 
the  matter  ?  What  is  that  placard  ?  Will  no  one  tell 
me  the  words  ?  My  old  eyes  are  dim.” 

As  he  uttered  the  questions,  in  the  shrill  and  piercing 
treble  of  age,  a  voice  replied  in  a  loud  and  deep  tone  — 
none  knew  whence  it  came ;  the  crowd  was  reduced  to  a 
few  stragglers,  chiefly  friars  in  cowl  and  serge,  whose 
curiosity  naught  could  daunt,  and  whose  garb  insured 
them  safety — the  soldiers  closed  the  rear :  a  voice,  I  say, 
came,  startling  the  color  from  many  a  cheek  —  in  answer 
to  the  Colonna,  saying : 

“Tremble!  Rienzi  shall  return!” 


BOOK  SIXTH. 


THE  PLAGUE. 


Erano  gli  anni  della  fruttifera  Incarzione  del  Figliuolo  di  Dio  al  numero  perve* 
nuti  di  mille  trecento  quarant’otto,  quando  nell’  egregia  citta  di  Fiorenza,  oltre  ad 
ogni  altra  Italica  bellissima,  pervenne  la  mortifera  pestilenza.  —  Boccaccio^  “  In- 
troduzione  al  DecameroneJ* 

The  years  of  the  fructiferous  Incarnation  of  the  Son  of  God  had  reache^  the 
number  of  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  forty-eightj  when  into  the  illustrious 
city  of  Florence,  beautiful  beyond  every  other  in  Italy,  entered  the  death-fraught 
pestilence.  —  Introduction  to  the  Decameron. 


CHAPTER 

The  Retreat  of  the  Lover. 

By  the  borders  of  one  of  the  fairest  lakes  of  Northern 
Italy  stood  the  favorite  mansion  of  Adrian  di  Gastello, 
to  which  in  his  softer  and  less  patriotic  moments  his 
imagination  had  often  and  fondly  turned ;  and  thither 
the  young  nobleman,  dismissing  his  more  courtly  and 
distinguished  companions  in  the  Neapolitan  embassy, 
retired  after  his  ill-starred  return  to  Rome.  Most  of 
those  thus  dismissed  joined  the  barons  ;  the  young  Anni- 
baldi,  whose  daring  and  ambitious  nature  had  attached 

him  strongly  to  the  Tribune,  maintained  a  neutral  ground  ; 

(71) 


RIENZI, 


T2 

he  betook  himself  to  his  castle  in  the  Campagna,  and  did 
not  return  to  Rome  till  the  expulsion  of  Rienzi. 

The  retreat  of  Irene’s  lover  was  one  well  fitted  to  feed 
his^  melancholy  reveries.  Without  being  absolutely  a 
fortress,  it  was  sufficiently  strong  to  resist  any  assault  of 
the  mountain  robbers  or  petty  tyrants  in  the  vicinity ; 
while,  built  by  some  former  lord  from  the  materials  of  the 
half-ruined  villas  of  the  ancient  Romans,  its  marbled 
columns  and  tessellated  pavements  relieved  with  a  wild 
grace  the  grey  stone  walls  and  massive  towers  of  feudal 
masonry.  Rising  from  a  green  eminence  gently  sloping 
to  the  lake,  the  stately  pile  cast  its  shadow  far  and  dark 
over  the  beautiful  waters ;  by  its  side,  from  the  high  and 
wooded  mountains  on  the  background,  broke  a  waterfall, 
in  irregular  and  sinuous  course  —  now  hid  by  the  foliage, 
now  gleaming  in  the  light,  and  collecting  itself  at  last  in 
a  broad  basin  —  beside  which  a  little  fountain,  inscribed 
with  half- obliterated  letters,  attested  the  departed  elegance 
of  the  classic  age — some  memento  of  lord  and  poet  whose 
very  names  were  lost ;  thence  descending  through  mosses 
and  lichen,  and  odorous  herbs,  a  brief,  sheeted  stream 
bore  its  surplus  into  the  lake.  And  there,  amidst  the 
sturdier  and  bolder  foliage  of  the  North,  grew,  wild  and 
picturesque,  many  a  tree  transplanted,  in  ages  back,  from 
the  sunnier  East ;  not  blighted  nor  stunted  in  that  golden 
clime,  which  fosters  almost  every  produce  of  nature  as 
.with  a  mother’s  care.  The  place  was  remote  and  solitary. 
The  roads  that  conducted  to  it  from  the  distant  towns 
were  tangled,  intricate,  mountainous,  and  beset  by  robbers. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  73 

A  few  cottages,  and  a  small  convent,  a  quarter  of  a 
league  up.  the  verdant- margin,  were  the  nearest  habita¬ 
tions  ;  and,  save  by  some  occasional  pilgrim  or  some  be¬ 
wildered  traveller,  the  loneliness  of  the  mansion  was 
rarely  invaded.  It  was  precisely  the  spot  which  proffered 
rest  to  a  man  weary  of  the  world,  and  indulging  the 
memories  which  grow  in  rank  luxuriance  over  the  wrecks 
of  passion.  And  he  whose  mind,  at  once  gentle  and  self- 
dependent,  can  endure  solitude,  might  have  ransacked  all 
earth  for  a  more  fair  and  undisturbed  retreat. 

But  not  to  such  a  solitude  had  the  earlier  dreams  of 
Adrian  dedicated  the  place.  Here  had  he  thought  — 
should  one  bright  being  have  presided — here  should  love 
have  found  its  haven :  and  hither,  when  love  at  length 
admitted  of  intrusion,  hither  might  wealth  and  congenial 
culture  have  invited  all  the  gentler  and  better  spirits 
which  had  begun  to  move  over  the  troubled  face  of  Italy, 
promising  a  second  and  younger  empire  of  poesy,  and 
lore,  and  art.  To  the  graceful  and  romantic  but  some¬ 
what  pensive  and  inert  temperament  of  the  young  noble, 
more  adapted  to  calm  and  civilized  than  stormy  and  bar¬ 
barous  times,  ambition  proffered  no  reward  so  grateful 
as  lettered  leisure  and  intellectual  repose.  His  youth 
colored  by  the  influence  of  Petrarch,  his  manhood  had 
dreamed  of  a  happier  Yaucluse  not  untenanted  by  a 
Laura.  The  visions  which  had  connected  the  scene  with 
the  image  of  Irene  made  the  place  still  haunted  by  her 
shade ;  and  time  and  absence  only  ministering  to  his 
II. -t 


74 


RIEN  ZI, 

impassioned  meditations,  deepened  Ms  melancholy  and 
increased  Ms  love. 

In  this  lone  retreat  —  which  even  in  describing  from 
memory,  for  these  eyes  have  seen,  these  feet  have  trodden, 
this  heart  yet  yearneth  for,  the  spot — which  even,  I  say, 
in  thus  describing,  seems  to  me  (and  haply  also  to  the 
gentle  reader)  a  grateful  and  welcome  transit  from  the 
storms  of  action  and  the  vicissitudes  of  ambition,  so  long 
engrossing  the  narrative  ;  — in  this  lone  retreat  Adrian 
passed  the  winter,  which  visits  with  so  mild  a  change 
that  intoxicating  clime.  The  roar  of  the  world  without 
was  borne  but  in  faint  and  indistinct  murmurings  to  his 
ear.  He  learned  only  imperfectly,  and  with  many  con¬ 
tradictions,  the  news  which  broke  like  a  thunderbolt  over 
Italy,  that  the  singular  and  aspiring  man  —  himself  a 
revolution  —  who  had  excited  the  interest  of  all  Europe, 
the  brightest  hopes  of  the  enthusiastic,  the  profusest 
adulation  of  the  great,  the  deepest  terror  of  the  despot, 
the  wildest  aspirations  of  all  free  spirits,  had  been  sud¬ 
denly  stricken  from  Ms  state,  his  name  branded  and  his 
head  proscribed.  This  event,  which  happened  at  the  end 
of  December,  reached  Adrian,  through  a  wandering  pil¬ 
grim,  at  the  commencement  of  March,  somewhat  more 
than  two  months  after  the  date ;  the  March  of  that  awful 
year  1348,  which  saw  Europe,  and  Italy  especially, 
desolated  by  the  direst  pestilence  which  history  has  re¬ 
corded,  accursed  alike  by  the  numbers  and  the  celebrity 
of  its  victims,  and  yet  strangely  connected  with  some  not 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


15 


unpleasing  images  by  the  grace  of  Boccaccio  and  the 
eloquence  of  Petrarch. 

The  pilgrim  who  informed  Adrian  of  the  revolution  at 
Rome  was  unable  to  give  him  any  clue  to  the  present 
fate  of  Rienzi  or  his  family.  It  was  only  known  that  the 
Tribune  and  his  wife  had  escaped,  none  knew  whither ; 
many  guessed  that  they  were  already  dead,  victims  to  the 
numerous  robbers  who  immediately  on  the  fall  of  the 
Tribune  settled  back  to  their  former  habits,  sparing 
neither  age  nor  sex,  wealth  nor  poverty.  As  all  relating 
to  the  ex-Tribune  was  matter  of  eager  interest,  the  pil¬ 
grim  had  also  learned  that,  previous  to  the  fall  of  Rienzi, 
his  sister  had  left  Rome,  but  it  w'as  not  known  to  what 
place  she  had  been  conveyed. 

The  news  utterly  roused  Adrian  from  his  dreaming 
life.  Irene  was  then  in  the  condition  his  letter  dared  to 
picture  —  severed  from  her  brother,  fallen  from  her  rank, 
desolate  and  friendless.  “  Now,”  said  the  generous  and 
high-hearted  lover,  “  she  may  be  mine  without  a  disgrace 
to  my  name.  Whatever  Rienzi’s  faults,  she  is  not  impli¬ 
cated  in  them.  Her  hands  are  not  red  with  my  kinsmen’s 
blood  ;  nor  can  men  say  that  Adrian  di  Gastello  allies 
himself  with  a  house  whose  power  is  built  upon  the  ruins 
of  the  Colonnas.  The  Colonna  are  restored — again  tri¬ 
umphant —  Rienzi  is  nothing  —  distress  and  misfortune 
unite  me  at  once  to  her  on  whom  they  fall !  ” 

But  how  were  these  romantic  resolutions  to  be  executed 
■ —  Irene’s  dwelling-place  unknown  ?  He  resolved  him¬ 
self  to  repair  to  Rome  and  make  the  necessary  inquiries  : 


HIE  N  ZI, 


Y6 

accordingly  he  summoned  his  retainers  : — blithe  tidings 
to  them,  those  of  travel !  The  mail  left  the  armory  — • 
the  banner  the  hall  —  and  after  two  days  of  animated 
bustle,  the  fountain  by  which  Adrian  had  passed  so  many 
hours  of  reverie  was  haunted  only  by  the  birds  of  the 
returning  spring ;  and  the  nightly  lamp  no  longer  cast 
its  solitary  ray  from  his  turret-chamber  over  the  bosom 
of  the  deserted  lake. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Seeker. 

It  was  a  bright,  oppressive,  sultry  morning,  when  a 
solitary  horseman  was  seen  winding  that  unequalled  road, 
from  whose  height,  amidst  fig-trees,  vines,  and  olives,  the 
traveller  beholds  gradually  break  upon  his  gaze  the 
enchanting  valley  of  the  Arno,  and  the  spires  and  domes 
of  Florence.  But  not  with  the  traveller’s  customary  eye 
of  admiration  and  dolight  passed  that  solitary  horseman, 
and  not  upon  the  usual  activity,  and  mirth,  and  animation 
of  the  Tuscan  life,  broke  that  noonday  sun.  All  was 
silent,  void,  and  hushed  ;  and  even  in  the  light  of  heaven 
there  seemed  a  sicklied  and  ghastly  glare.  The  cottages 
by  the  road-side  were  some  shut  up  and  closed,  some 
open,  but  seemingly  inmateless.  The  plough  stood  still, 
the  distaff  plied  not ;  horse  and  man  had  a  dreary  holi- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


day.  There  was  a  darker  curse  upon  the  land  than  the 
curse  of  Cain  !  Now  and  then  a  single  figure,  usually 
clad  in  the  gloomy  robe  of  a  friar,  crossed  the  road,  lift¬ 
ing  towards  the  traveller  a  livid  and  amazed  stare,  and 
then  hurried  on,  and  vanished  beneath  some  roof,  whence 
Issued  a  faint  and  dying  moan,  which  but  for  the  exceed¬ 
ing  stillness  around  could  scarcely  have  pierced  the  thres¬ 
hold.  As  the  traveller  neared  the  city,  the  scene  became 
less  solitary,  yet  more  dread.  There  might  be  seen  carts 
and  litters,  thick  awnings  wrapped  closely  round  them, 
containing  those  who  sought  safety  in  flight,  forgetful 
that  the  plague  was  everywhere  !  And  while  these 
gloomy  vehicles  conducted  by  horses,  gaunt,  shadowy 
skeletons,  crawling  heavily  along,  passed  by,  like  hearses 
of  the  dead,  sometimes  a  cry  burst  the  silence  in  which 
they  moved,  and  the  traveller’s  steed  started  aside,  as 
some  wretch,  on  whom  the  disease  had  broke  forth,  was 
dropped  from  the  vehicle  by  the  selfish  inhumanity  of  his 
comrades,  and  left  to  perish  by  the  way.  Hard  by  the 
gate  a  wagon  paused,  and  a  man  with  a  mask  threw  out 
its  contents  in  a  green  slimy  ditch  that  bordered  the  road. 
These  were’ garments  and  robes  of  all  kind  and  value  ; 
the  broidered  mantle  of  the  gallant,  the  hood  and  veil 
of  my  lady,  and  the  rags  of  the  peasant.  While  glancing 
at  the  labor  of  the  masker,  the  cavalier  beheld  a  herd  of 
swine,  gaunt  and  half  famished,  run  to  the  spot  in  the 
hopes  of  food,  and  the  traveller  shuddered  to  think  what 
food  they  might  have  anticipated  !  But  ere  he  reached 
the  gate,  those  of  the  animals  that  had  been  busiest  root- 
1* 


18 


RIENZI, 

ing  at  the  infectious  heap,  dropped  down  dead  amongst 
their  fellows.* 

“Ho,  ho,”  said  the  masker,  and  his  hollow  voice 
sounded  yet  more  hollow  through  his  vizard — “comest 
thou  here  to  die,  stranger  ?  See,  thy  brave  mantle  of 
triple-pile  and  golden  broidery  will  not  save  thee  from 
the  gavocciolo.'t*  Ride  on,  ride  on; — to-day  fit  morsel 
for  thy  lady’s  kiss,  to-morrow  too  foul  for  the  rat  and 
worm.!  ” 

Replying  not  to  this  hideous  welcome,  Adrian,  for  it 
was  he,  pursued  his  way.  The  gates  stood  wide  open  : 
this  was  the  most  appalling  sign  of  all,  for,  at  first,  the 
most  jealous  precaution  had  been  taken  against  the  in¬ 
gress  of  strangers.  Row  all  care,  all  foresight,  all 
vigilance,  were  vain.  And  thrice  nine  warders  had  died 
at  that  single  post,  and  the  officers  to  appoint  their  suc¬ 
cessors  were  dead  too  I  Law  and  police,  and  the 
tribunals  of  health,  and  the  boards  of  safety,  death  had 
stopped  them  all !  And  the  plague  killed  art  itself,  social 
union,  the  harmony  and  mechanism  of  civilization,  as  if 
they  had  been  bone  and  flesh  I 

So,  mute  and  solitary,  went  on  the  lover,  in  his  quest 
of  love,  resolved  to  find  and  to  save  his  betrothed,  and 
guided  (that  faithful  and  loyal  knight !)  through  the 
Wilderness  of  Horror  by  the  blessed  hope  of  that  strange 
passion,  noblest  of  all  when  noble,  basest  of  all  when 
base  I  He  came  into  a  broad  and  spacious  square  lined 


*  The  same  spectacle  greeted,  and  is  recorded  by,  Boccaccio 
f  The  tumor  that  made  the  fatal  symptom. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


79 


with  palaces,  the  usual  haunt  of  the  best  and  most  grace¬ 
ful  nobility  of  Italy,  The  stranger  was  alone  now,  and 
the  tramp  of  his  gallant  steed  sounded  ghastly  and  fear¬ 
ful  in  his  own  ears,  when  just  as  he  turned  the  corner  of 
one  of  the  streets  that  led  from  it,  he  saw  a  woman  steal 
forth  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  while  another,  yet  in  in¬ 
fancy,  clung  to  her  robe.  She  held  a  large  bunch  of 
flowers  to  her  nostrils  (the  fancied  and  favorite  mode  to 
prevent  infection),  and  muttered  to  the  children,  who  were 
moaning  with  hunger,  —  “Yes,  yes,  you  shall  have  food  ! 
Plenty  of  food  now  for  the  stirring  forth.  But  oh,  that 
stirring  fortliP''  —  and  she  peered  about  and  round,  lest 
any  of  the  diseased  might  be  near. 

“My  friend,’’  said  he,  “can  you  direct  me  to  the  con¬ 
vent  of - ” 

“Away,  man,  away  !  ”  shrieked  the  woman. 

“Alas!”  said  Adrian,  with  a  mournful  smile,  “can 
you  not  see  that  I  am  not,  as  yet,  one  to  spread  con¬ 
tagion  I  ” 

But  the  woman,  unheeding  him,  fled  on ;  when,  after  a 
few  paces,  she  was  arrested  by  the  child  that  clung  to 
her. 

“Mother,  mother!”  it  cried,  “I  am  sick  —  I  cannot 
stir,” 

The  woman  halted,  tore  aside  the  child’s  robe,  saw  under 
the  arm  the  fatal  tumor,  and,  deserting  her  own  flesh, 
fled  with  a  shriek  along  the  square.  The  shriek  rang 
long  in  Adrian’s  ears,  though  not  aware  of  the  unnatural 
cause  ;  — the  mother  feared  not  for  her  infant,  hut  her-  ^ 


80 


R  I  E  N  Z  I , 


self.  The  voice  of  Nature  was  no  more  heeded  in  that 
charnel  city  than  it  is  in  the  tomb  itself !  Adrian  rode  on 
at  a  brisker  pace,  and  came  at  length  before  a  stately 
church  ;  its  doors  were  wide  open,  and  he  saw  within  a 
company  of  monks  (the  church  had  no  other  worshippers, 
and  they  were  masked)  gathered  round  the  altar,  and 
chanting  the  Miserere  Domine  ;  —  the  ministers  of  God, 
in  a  city  hitherto  boasting  the  devoutest  population  in 
Italy,  without  a  flock  ! 

The  young  cavalier  paused  before  the  door,  and  waited 
till  the  service  w^as  done,  and  the  monks  descended  the 
steps  into  the  street. 

“  Holy  fathers  !  ”  said  he  then,  “  may  I  pray  your  good¬ 
ness  to  tell  me  my  nearest  way  to  the  convent  Santa 
Maria  de’  Pazzi  ?  ’’ 

“Son,’’  said  one  of  these  featureless  spectres,  for  so 
they  seemed  in  their  shroud-like  robes,  and  uncouth 
vizards — “son,  pass  on  your  way,  and  God  be  with  you. 
Robbers  or  revellers  may  now  fill  the  holy  cloisters  you 
speak  of.  The  abbess  is  dead,  and  many  a  sister  sleeps 
with  her.  And  the  nuns  have  fled  from  the  contagion.” 

Adrian  half  fell  from  his  horse ;  and,  as  he  still  re¬ 
mained  rooted  to  the  spot,  the  dark  procession  swept  on, 
hymning  in  solemn  dirge  through  the  desolate  street  the 
monastic  chant  — 

“By  the  Mother  and  the  Son, 

Death  endured,  and  mercy  won : 

Spare  us,  sinners  though  we  be; 

Miserere,  Domine  !  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


81 


Kecovering  from  liis  stupor,  Adrian  regained  the 
brethren,  and,  as  they  closed  the  burthen  of  their  song, 
again  accosted  them. 

“  Holy  fathers,  dismiss  me  not  thus.  Perchance  the 
one  I  seek  may  yet  be  heard  of  at  the  convent.  Tell  me 
which  way  to  shape  my  course.’’ 

“  Disturb  us  not,  son,”  said  the  monk  who  spoke 
before.  “It  is  an  ill  omen  for  thee  to  break  thus  upon 
the  invocations  of  the  ministers  of  Heaven.” 

“  Pardon,  pardon !  I  will  do  ample  penance,  pay 
many  masses  ;  but  I  seek  a  dear  friend  —  the  way  —  the 
way - ” 

“  To  the  right  till  you  gain  the  first  bridge.  Beyond 
the  third  bridge,  on  the  river  side,  you  will  find  the  con¬ 
vent,”  said  another  monk,  moved  by  the  earnestness  of 
Adrian. 

“Bless  you,  holy  father,”  faltered  forth  the  cavalier, 
and  spurred  his  steed  in  the  direction  given.  The  friars 
,  heeded  him  not,  but  again  resumed  their  dirge.  Mingled 
with  the  sound  of  his  horse’s  hoofs  on  the  clattering  pave¬ 
ment,  came  to  the  rider’s  ear  the  imploring  line  — 

“  Miserere,  Domine  !  ” 

Impatient,  sick  at  heart,  desperate,  Adrian  flew  through 
the  streets  at  the  full  speed  of  his  horse.  He  passed  the 
market-place; — it  was  empty  as  the  desert; — the 
gloomy  and  barricaded  streets,  in  which  the  counter  cries 
of  Guelf  and  Ghibeline  had  so  often  cheered  on  the 
chivalry  and  rank  of  Florence.  Now  huddled  together 

F 


82 


RIENZI, 


in  vault  and  pit,  lay  Guelf  and  Ghibeline,  knightly  spurs 
and  beggar’s  crutch.  To  that  silence  the  roar  even  of 
civil  strife  would  have  been  a  blessing  !  The  first  bridge, 
the  river  side,  the  second,  the  third  bridge,  all  were 
gained,  and  Adrian  at  last  reined  his  steed  before  the 
walls  of  the  convent.  He  fastened  his  steed  to  the  porch, 
in  which  the  door  stood  ajar,  half  torn  from  its  hinges, 
traversed  the  court,  gained  the  opposite  door  that  ad¬ 
mitted  to  the  main  building,  came  to  the  jealous  grating, 
now  no  more  a  barrier  from  the  profane  world,  and  as  he 
there  paused  a  moment  to  recover  breath  and  nerve,  wild 
laughter  and  loud  song,  interrupted  and  mixed  with  oaths, 
startled  his  ear.  He  pushed  aside  the  grated  door, 
entered,  and  led  by  the  sounds  came  to  the  refectory.  In 
that  meeting-place  of  the  severe  and  mortified  maids  of 
heaven,  he  now  beheld  gathered  round  the  upper  table, 
used  of  yore  by  the  abbess,  a  strange,  disorderly,  ruffian 
herd,  who  at  first  glance  seemed  indeed  of  all  ranks,  for 
some  wore  serge,  or  even  rags,  others  were  tricked  out  in 
all  the  bravery  of  satin  and  velvet,  plume  and  mantle. 
But  a  second  glance  sufficed  to  indicate  that  the  com¬ 
panions  were  much  of  the  same  degree,  and  that  the 
finery  of  the  more  showy  was  but  the  spoil  rent  from  un¬ 
guarded  palaces  or  tenantless  bazaars  ;  for  under  plumed 
hats,  looped  with  jewels,  were  grim,  unwashed,  unshaven 
faces,  over  which  hung  the  long  locks  which  the  professed 
brethren  of  the  sharp  knife  and  hireling  arm  had  just 
begun  to  assume,  serving  them  often  instead  of  a  mask. 
Amidst  these  savage  revellers  were  many  women,  young 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


83 


and  middle-aged,  foul  and  fair ;  and  Adrian  piously 
shuddered  to  see  amongst  the  loose  robes  and  ^uncovered 
necks  of  the  professional  harlots  the  saintly  habit  and 
beaded  rosary  of  nuns.  Flasks  of  wine,  ample  viands, 
gold  and  silver  vessels,  mostly  consecrated  to  holy  rites, 
strewed  the  board.  As  the  young  Roman  paused  spell¬ 
bound  at  the  threshold,  the  man  who  acted  as  president 
of  the  revel,  a  huge,  swarthy  ruflBan,  with  a  deep  scar 
over  his  face,  which,  traversing  the  whole  of  the  left  cheek 
and  upper  lip,  gave  his  large  features  an  aspect  preter- 
naturally  hideous,  called  out  to  him  — 

“Come  in,  man  —  come  in  I  Why  stand  you  there 
amazed  and  dumb.  We  are  hospitable  revellers,  and  give 
all  men  welcome.  Here  are  wine  and  women.  My  lord 
bishop’s  wine  and  my  lady  abbess’s  women  I 

“Sing  hey,  sing  ho,  for  the  royal  Death, 

That  scatters  a  host  with  a  single  breath; 

That  opens  the  prison  to  spoil  the  palace, 

And  rids  honest  necks  from  the  hangman’s  malice ; 

Here’s  a  health  to  the  Plague !  Let  the  mighty  ones  dread, 
The  poor  never  lived  till  the  wealthy  were  dead. 

A  health  to  the  Plague !  may  She  ever  as  now 

Loose  the  rogue  from  his  chain  and  the  nun  from  her  vow; 

To  the  gaoler  a  sword,  to  the  captive  a  key, 

Hurrah  for  Earth’s  Curse  —  ’tis  a  blessing  to  me !  ” 

Ere  this  fearful  stave  was  concluded,  Adrian,  sensible 
that  in  such  orgies  there  was  no  chance  of  prosecuting 
his  inquiries,  left  the  desecrated  chamber  and  fled, 
scarcely  drawing  breath,  so  great  was  the  terror  that 
seized  him,  till  he  stood  once  more  in  the  court  amidst 
the  hot,  sickly,  stagnant  sunlight,  that  seemed  a  fit  at- 


1 


84  RIENZI, 

I 

mosphere  for  the  scenes  on  which  it  fell.  He  resolved, 
however,  not  to  desert  the  place  without  making  another 
effort  at  inquiry ;  and  while  he  stood  without  the  court, 
musing  and  dotibtful,  he  saw  a  small  chapel  hard  by, 
through  whose  long  casement  gleamed  faintly,  and 
dimmed  by  the  noonday,  the  light  of  tapers.  He  turned 
towards  its  porch,  entered,  and  saw  beside  the  sanctuary 
a  single  nun  kneeling  in  prayer.  In  the  narrow  aisle, 
upon  a  long  table  (at  either  end  of  which  burned  the  tall 
dismal  tapers  whose  rays  had  attracted  him),  the 
drapery  of  several  shrouds  showed  him  the  half  distinct 
outline  of  human  figures  hushed  in  death.  Adrian  him¬ 
self,  impressed  by  the  sadness  and  sanctity  of  the  place, 
and  the  touching  sight  of  that  solitary  and  unselfish 

t 

watcher  of  the  dead,  knelt  down  and  intensely  prayed. 

As  he  rose,  somewhat  relieved  from  the  burthen  at  his 
heart,  the  nun  rose  also,  and  started  to  perceive  him. 

“  Unhappy  man  !  ”  said  she,  in  a  voice  which,  low, 
faint,  and  solemn,  sounded  as  a  ghost’s  —  “what  fatality 
brings  thee  hither  ?  Seest  thou  not  thou  art  in  the 
presence  of  clay  which  the  plague  hath  touched  —  thou 
breathest  the  air  which  destroys  I  Hence  !  and  search 
throughout  all  the  desolation  for  one  spot  where  the  dark 
visitor  hath  not  come  I  ” 

“Holy  maiden,”  answered  Adrian,  “the  danger  you 
hazard  does  not  appal  me ;  —  I  seek  one  whose  life  is 
dearer  than  my  own.” 

“Thou  needest  say  no  more  to  tell  me  thou  art  newly 
come  to  Florence  !  Here  son  forsakes  his  father,  and 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


85 


mother  deserts  her  child.  When  life  is  most  hopeless, 
these  worms  of  a  day  cling  to  it  as  if  it  were  the  salvation 
of  immortality  !  But  for  me  alone,  death  has  no  horror. 
Long  severed  from  the  world,  I  have  seen  my  sisterhood 
perish — the  house  of  God  desecrated — its  altar  overthrown, 
and  I  care  not  to  survive,  —  the  last  whom  the  pestilence 
leaves  at  once  unperjured  and  alive.” 

The  nun  paused  a  few  moments,  and  then,  looking 
earnestly  at  the  healthful  countenance  and  unbroken  frame 
of  Adrian,  sighed  heavily — “Stranger,  why  fly  you  not?” 
she  said.  “  Thou  mightst  as  well  search  the  crowded 
vaults  and  rotten  corruption  of  the  dead,  as  search  the 
city  for  one  living.” 

“  Sister,  and  bride  of  the  blessed  Redeemer  I  ”  returned 
the  Roman,  clasping  his  hands  —  “  one  word,  I  implore 
thee.  Thou  art,  methinks,  of  the  sisterhood  of  yon  dis¬ 
mantled  convent ;  tell  me,  knowest  thou  if  Irene  di  Ga- 
brini,* — guest  of  the  late  abbess,  sister  of  the  fallen  Tri¬ 
bune  of  Rome,  —  be  yet  amongst  the  living  ?  ” 

“  Art  thou  her  brother,  then  ?  ”  said  the  nun.  “  Art 
thou  that  fallen  Sun  of  the  Morning  ?”  , 

“  I  am  her  betrothed,”  replied  Adrian,  sadly.  “  Speak.” 
“  Oh,  flesh  I  flesh  I  how  art  thou  victor  to  the  last,  even 
amidst  the  triumphs  and  in  the  iazar-house  of  corruption  I  ” 
said  the  nun.  “Yain  man!  think  not  of  such  carnal 
ties ;  make  thy  peace  with  Heaven,  for  thy  days  are 
surely  numbered  I  ” 


*  The  family  name  of  Rienzi  was  Gabrini. 


II.— 8 


86 


RIENZI, 


“  Woman  I  ”  cried  Adrian,  impatiently —  “talk  not  to 
me  of  myself,  nor  rail  against  ties  whose  holiness  thou 
canst  not  know.  I  ask  thee  again,  as  thou  thyself  hopest 
for  mercy  and  for  pardon,  is  Irene  living  ?  ” 

The  nun  was  awed  by  the  energy  of  the  young  lover, 
and  after  a  moment,  which  seemed  to  him  an  age  of  ago¬ 
nized  suspense,  she  replied  — 

“  The  maiden  thou  speakest  of  died  not  with  the  gen¬ 
eral  death.  In  the  dispersion  of  the  few  remaining,  she 
left  the  convent — I  know  not  whither  ;  but  she  had  friends 
in  Florence  —  their  names  I  cannot  tell  thee.” 

“"Now  bless  thee,  holy  sister  !  bless  thee  I  How  long 
since  she  left  the  convent  ?  ” 

“  Four  days  have  passed  since  the  robber  and  the  har¬ 
lot  have  seized  the  house  of  Santa  Maria,”  replied  the  , 
nun,  groaning  :  “  and  they  were  quick  successors  to  the 
sisterhood.” 

“  Four  days ! — and  thou  canst  give  me  no  clue  ?  ” 

“None  —  yet  stay,  young  man!”  —  and  the  nun,  ap¬ 
proaching,  lowered  her  voice  to  a  thrilling  whisper — “  ask 
the  -BecchinV'^ 

■  Adrian  started  aside,  crossed  himself  hastily,  and  quit¬ 
ted  the  convent  without  answer.  He  returned  to  his 
horse,  and  rode  back  into  the  silenced  heart  of  the  city. 

*  According  to  the  usual  custom  of  Florence,  the  dead  were  borne 
to  their  resting-place  on  biers,  supported  by  citizens  of  equal  rank ; 
but  a  new  trade  was  created  by  the  plague,  and  men  of  the  lowest 
dregs  of  the  populace,  bribed  by  immense  payment,  discharged  the 
ofifice  of  transporting  the  remains  of  the  victims.  These  were  called 
JBecchini. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


87 


Tavern  and  hotel  there  were  no  more ;  but  the  palaces 
of  dead  princes  were  free  to  the  living  stranger.  He 
entered  one  —  a  spacious  and  splendid  mansion.  In  the 
stables  he  found  forage  still  in  the  manger  ;  but  the  horses, 
at  that  time  in  the  Italian  cities  a  proof  of  rank  as  well 
as  wealth,  were  gone  with  the  hands  that  fed  them.  The 
high-born  knight  assumed  the  office  of  groom,  took  off 
the  heavy  harness,  fastened  his  steed  to  the  rack,  and  as 
the  wearied  animal,  unconscious  of  the  surrounding  hor¬ 
rors,  fell  eagerly  upon  its  meal,  its  young  lord  turned 
away,  and  muttered,  “  Faithful  servant  and  sole  compan¬ 
ion  I  may  the  pestilence  that  spareth  neither  beast  nor 
man,  spare  thee  !  and  mayest  thou  bear  me  hence  wdth  a 
lighter  heart  I  ” 

A  spacious  hall,  hung  with  arms  and  banners— a  wide 
flight  of  marble  stairs,  whose  walls  were  painted  in  the 
stiff  outlines  and  gorgeous  colors  of  the  day,  conducted 
to  vast  chambers,  hung  with  velvets  and  cloth  of  gold, 
but  silent  as  the  tomb.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  cush¬ 
ions  which  were  piled  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  for  he 
had  ridden  far  that  morning,  and  for  many  days  before, 
and  he  was  wearied  and  exhausted,  body  and  limb ;  but 
he  could  not  rest.  Impatience,  anxiety,  hope,  and  fear, 
gnawed  his  heart  and  fevered  his  veins,  and,  after  a  brief 
and  unsatisfactory  attempt  to  sober  his  own  thoughts, 
and  devise  some  plan  of  search  more  certain  than  that 
which  chance  might  afford  him,  he  rose,  and  traversed  the 
apartments,  in  the  unacknowledged  hope  which  chance 
alone  could  suggest. 


1 


88 


RIENZI, 


It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had  made  his  resting-place 
in  the  home  of  one  of  the  princes  of  the  land  ;  and  the 
splendor  of  all  around  him  far  outshone  the  barbarous  and 
rude  magnificence  of  the  less  civilized  and  wealthy  Romans. 
Here  lay  the  lute  as  last  touched — the  gilded  and  illumined 
volume  as  last  conned ;  there  were  seats  drawn  familiarly 
together,  as  when  lady  and  gallant  had  interchanged 
whispers  last. 

“And  such,”  thought  Adrian, — “such  desolation  may 
soon  swallow  up  the  vestige  of  the  unwelcomed  guest,  as 
of  the  vanished  lord  !  ” 

At  length  he  entered  a  saloon,  in  which  was  a  table 
still  spread  with  wine-flasks,  goblets  of  glass,  and  one  of 
silver,  withered  flowers,  half-mouldy  fruits,  and  viands. 
At  one  side  the  arras,  folding-doors  opened  to  a  broad 
flight  of  stairs,  that  descended  to  a  little  garden  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  in  which  a  fountain  still  played 
sparkling  and  livingly — the  only  thing,  save  the  stranger, 
living  there  !  On  the  steps  lay  a  crimson  mantle,  and  by 
it  a  lady’s  glove.  The  relics  seemed  to  speak  to  the 
lover’s  heart  of  a  lover’s  last  wooing  and  last  farewell. 
He  groaned  aloud,  and  feeling  he  should  have  need  of  all 
his  strength,  filled  one  of  the  goblets  from  a  half-emptied 
flask  of  Cyprus  wine.  He  drained  the  draught — it  revived 

him.  “Now,”  he  said,  “once  more  to  my  task  I _ I  will 

sally  forth,”  when  suddenly  he  heard  heavy  steps  along 
the  rooms  he  had  quitted  —  they  approached  —  they 
entered ;  and  Adrian  beheld  two  huge  and  ill-omened 
forms  stalk  into  the  chamber.  They  were  wrapped  in 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


89 


black  homely  draperies,  their  arms  were  bare,  and  they 
wore  large  shapeless  masks,  which  descended  to  the  breast, 
leaying  only  access  to  sight  and  breath  in  three  small  and 
circular  apertures.  The  Colonna  half  drew  his  sword, 
for  the  forms  and  aspects  of  these  visitors  were  not  such 
as  men  think  to  look  upon  in  safety. 

“  Oh,”  said  one',  “the  palace  has  a  new  guest  to-day. 
Fear  us  not,  stranger;  there  is  room,  —  ay,  and  wealth 
enough,  for  all  men  now  in  Florence  I  Per  Bacco  !  but 
there  is  still  one  goblet  of  silver  left — how  comes  that  ?  ” 
So  saying,  the  man  seized  the  cup  which  Adrian  had  just 
drained,  and  thrust  it  into  his  breast.  He  then  turned 
to  Adrian,  whose  hand  was  still  upon  his  hilt,  and  said, 
with  a  laugh  which  came  choked  and  muffled  through  his 
vizard,  “  Oh,  we  cut  no  throats,  signor  :  the  Invisible 
spares  us  that  trouble.  We  are  honest  men,  state  officers, 
and  come  but  to  see  if  the  cart  should  halt  here  to-night.” 

“Ye  are  then - ” 

“  Becchini  I  ” 

Adrian’s  blood  ran  cold.  The  Becchino  continued, 
“And  keep  you  this  house  while  you  rest  at  Florence, 
signor  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  if  the  rightful  lord  claim  it  not.” 

“  Ha  !  ha  I  ‘  rightful  lord  !  ’  The  Plague  is  Lord  of 
all  now  1  Why,  I  have  known  three  gallant  companies 
tenant  this  place  last  week,  and  have  buried  them  all  — 
ah  !  It  is  a  pleasant  house  enough,  and  gives  good 
custom.  Are  you  alone  ?  ” 

“At  present,  yes.” 

8* 


90 


RIENZI, 


“  Show  us  where  you  sleep,  that  we  may  know  where 
to  come  for  you.  You  won’t  want  us  these  three  days,  I 
see.” 

“Ye  are  pleasant  welcomers  !  ”  said  Adrian;  “but 
listen  to  me.  Can  ye  find  the  living  as  well  as  bury  the 
dead  ?  I  seek  one  in  this  city  who,  if  you  discover  her, 
shall  be  worth  to  you  a  year  of  burials.” 

“  Yo,  no  !  that  is  out  of  our  line.  As  well  look  for  a 
dropped  sand  on  the  beach,  as  for  a  living  being  amongst 
closed  houses  and  yawning  vaults  ;  but  if  you  will  pay  the 
poor  grave-diggers  beforehand,  I  promise  you,  you  shall 
have  the  first  of  a  new  charnel-house  ;  —  it  will  be  finished 
just  about  your  time.” 

“  There  !  ”  said  Adrian,  flinging  the  wretches  a  few 
pieces  of  gold,  “  there  !  and  if  you  would  do  me  a  kinder 
service,  leave  me  at  least  while  living  ;  or  I  may  save  you 
that  trouble.”  And  he  turned  from  the  room. 

The  Becchino  who  had  been  spokesman  followed  him. 
“You  are  generous,  signor,  stay  ;  you  will  want  fresher 
food  than  these  filthy  fragments.  I  will  supply  thee  of 
the  best,  while  —  while  thou  wantest  it.  And  hark,  — 
whom  wishest  thou  that  I  should  seek  ?  ” 

This  question  arrested  Adrian’s  departure.  He  de¬ 
tailed  the  name,  and  all  the  particulars  he  could  suggest 
of  Irene :  and,  with  sickened  heart,  described  the  hair, 
features,  and  stature  of  that  lovely  and  hallowed  image, 
which  might  furnish  a  theme  to  the  poet,  and  now  gave 
a  clue  to  the  grave-digger. 

The  unhallowed  apparition  shook  his  head  when  Adrian 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


91 


had  concluded.  “  Full  five  hundred  such  descriptions  did 
I  hear  in  the  first  days  of  the  Plague,  when  there  were 
still  such  things  as  mistress  and  lover ;  but  it  is  a  dainty 
catalogue,  signor,  and  it  will  be  a  pride  to  the  poor 
Becchino  to  discover  or  even  to  bury  so  many  charms  I  I 
will  do  my  best ;  meanwhile,  I  can  recommend  you,  if  in 
a  hurry  to  make  the  best  use  of  your  time,  to  many  a 
pretty  face  and  comely  shape - ’’ 

“  Out,  fiend  !”  muttered  Adrian  ;  “fool  to  waste  time 
with  such  as  thou  !  ” 

The  laugh  of  the  grave-digger  followed  his  steps. 

All  that  day  did  Adrian  wander  through  the  city,  but 
search  and  question  were  alike  unavailing ;  all  whom  he 
encountered  and  interrogated  seemed  to  regard  him  as  a 
madman,  and  these  were  indeed  of  no  kind  likely  to  ad¬ 
vance  his  object.  Wild  troops  of  disordered,  drunken 
revellers,  processions  of  monks,  or  here  and  there,  scat¬ 
tered  individuals  gliding  rapidly  along,  and  shunning  all 
approach  or  speech,  made  the  only  haunters  of  the  dismal 
streets,  till  the  sun  sunk,  lurid  and  yellow,  behind  the 
hills,  and  Darkness  closed  around  the  noiseless  pathway 
of  the  Pestilence. 


92 


RIENZI, 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Flowers  amidst  the  Tombs. 

Adrian  found  that  the  Becchino  had  taken  care  that 
faniine  should  not  forestall  the  plague  ;  the  banquet  of 
the  dead  was  removed,  and  fresh  viands  and  wines  of  all 
kinds, — for  there  was  plenty  then  in  Florence  I  —  spread 
the  table.  He  partook  of  the  refreshment,  though  but 
sparingly ;  and  shrinking  from  repose  in  beds  beneath 
whose  gorgeous  hangings  Death  had  been  so  lately  busy, 
carefully  closed  door  and  window,  wrapped  himself  in  his 
mantle,  and  found  his  resting-place  on  the  cushions  of 
the  chamber  in  which  he  had  supped.  Fatigue  cast  him 
into  an  unquiet  slumber,  from  which  he  was  suddenly 
awakened  by  the  roll  of  a  cart  below,  and  the  jingle  of 
bells.  He  listened,  as  the  cart  proceeded  slowly  from 
door  to  door,  and  at  length  its  sound  died  away  in  the 
distance.  —  He  slept  no  more  that  night ! 

The  sun  had  not  long  risen  ere  he  renewed  his  labors  ; 
and  it  was  yet  early  when,  just  as  he  passed  a  church, 
two  ladies  richly  dressed  came  from  the  porch,  and  seemed 
through  their  vizards  to  regard  the  young  cavalier  with 
earnest  attention.  The  gaze  arrested  him  also,  when  one 
of  the  ladies  said,  “  Fair  sir,  you  are  overbold  :  you  wear 
no  mask,  neither  do  you  smell  to  flowers.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


93 


“  Lady,  I  wear  no  mask,  for  I  would  be  seen  :  I  search 
these  miserable  places  for  one  in  whose  life  I  live.” 

“  He  is  young,  comely,  evidently  noble,  and  the  plague 
hath  not  touched  him  :  he  will  serve  our  purpose  well,” 
whispered  one  of  the  ladies  to  the  other. 

“You  echo  my  own  thoughts,”  returned  her  compan¬ 
ion;  and  then,  turning  to  Adrian,  she  said,  “You  seek 
one  you  are  not  wedded  to,  if  you  seek  so  fondly  ?  ” 

“It  is  true.” 

“Young  and  fair,  with  dark  hair  and  neck  of  snow:  I 
will  conduct  you  to  her.” 

“  Signora  I  ” 

“Follow  us  !  ”  ' 

“Know  you  whom  I  am,  and  whom  I  seek?” 

“  Yes.” 

“Can  you  in  truth  tell  me  aught  of  Irene!” 

“I  can:  follow  me.” 

“  To  her  ?  ” 

“Yes,  yes:  follow  us!” 

The  ladies  moved  on,  as  if  impatient  of  further  parley. 
Amazed,  doubtful,  and  as  if  in  a  dream,  Adrian  followed 
them.  Their  dress,  manner,  and  the  pjire  Tuscan  of  the 
one  who  had  addressed  him,  indicated  them  of  birth  and 
station  ;  but  all  else  was  a  riddle  which  he  could  not 
solve. 

They  arrived  at  one  of  the  bridges,  where  a  litter  and 
a  servant  on  horseback,  holding  a  palfrey  by  the  bridle, 
were  in  attendance.  The  ladies  entered  the  litter,  and 


94  RIENZI, 

she  who  had  before  spoken  bade  Adrian  follow  on  the 
palfrey. 

“But  tell  me - ”  he  began. 

“No  questions,  cavalier,”  said  she,  impatiently; 
“follow  the  living  in  silence,  or  remain  with  the  dead,  as 
you  list.  ” 

With  that  the  litter  proceeded,  and  Adrian  mounted 
the  palfrey  wonderingly,  and  followed  his  strange  con¬ 
ductors,  who  moved  on  at  a  tolerably  brisk  pace.  They 
crossed  the  bridge,  left  the  river  on  one  side,  and,  soon 
ascending  a  gentle  acclivity,  the  trees  and  flowers  of  the 
country  began  to  succeed  dull  walls  and  empty  streets. 
After  proceeding  thus  somewhat  less  than  half  an  hour, 
they  turned  up  a  green  lane  remote  from  the  road,  and 
came  suddenly  upon  the  porticos  of  a  fair  and  stately 
palace.  Here  the  ladies  descended  from  their  litter  ;  and 
Adrian,  who  had  vainly  sought  to  extract  speech  from 
the  attendant,  also  dismounted,  and  following  them  across 
a  spacious  court,  filled  on  either  side  with  vases  of  flowers 
and  orange-trees,  and  then  through  a  wide  hall  in  the 
farther  side  of  the  quadrangle,  found  himself  in  one  of  the 
loveliest  spots  eye  ever  saw  or  poet  ever  sang.  It  was  a 
garden-plot  of  the  most  emerald  verdure,  bouquets  of 
laurel  and  of  myrtle  opened  on  either  side  into  vistas 
half  overhung  with  clematis  and  rose,  through  whose 
arcades  the  prospect  closed  with  statues  and  gushing 
fountains  ;  in  front,  the  lawn  was  bounded  by  rows  of 
vases  on  marble  pedestals  filled  with  flowers ;  and  broad 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


95 


and  gradual  flights  of  steps  of  the  whitest  marble  led 
from  terrace  to  terrace,  each  adorned  with  statues  and 
fountains,  half-way  down  a  high  but  softly  sloping  and 
verdant  hill.  Beyond,  spread  in  wide,  various,  and  luxu¬ 
rious  landscape,  the  vineyards  and  olive-groves,  the  villas 
and  villages,  of  the  Vale  of  Arno,  intersected  by  the 
silver  river  ;  while  the  city,  in  all  its  calm,  but  without  its 
horror,  raised  its  roofs  and  spires  to  the  sun.  Birds  of 
every  hue  and  song,  some  free,  some  in  network  of 
golden  wire,  warbled  round ;  ^mdja^on  the  centre  of  the 
sward  reclined  four  ladies  jglmasked  and  richly  dressed, 
the  eldest  of  whom  seep6d  scarcely  more  than  twenty ; 
and  five  cavaliers,  young  and  handsome,  whose  jewelled 
vests  and  golden  chains  attested  their  degree.  Wines 
and  fruits  were  on  a  low^ble  beside  ;  and  musical-instru- 
ments,  chess-boards,  and  gamrfion-tables,  lay  scattered 
all  about.  So  fair  a  group,  and  so  graceful  a  scene, 
Adrian  never  beheld  but  once,  and  that  was  in  the  midst 
of  the  ghastly  pestilence  of  Italy  !  —  such  group  and  such 
scene  our  closet  indolence  may  yet  revive  in  the  pages  of 
the  bright  Boccaccio  I 

On  seeing  Adrian  and  his  companions  approach,  the 
party  rose  instantly ;  and  one  of  the  ladies,  who  wore 
upon  her  head  a  wreath  of  laurel-leaves,  stepping  before 
the  rest,  exclaimed,  “Well  done,  my  Mariana  1  welcome 
back,  my  fair  subjects.  And  you,  sir,  welcome  hither.” 

The  two  guides  of  the  Colonna  had  by  this  time  re¬ 
moved  their  masks ;  and  the  one  who  had  accosted  him, 
shaking  her  long  and  raven  ringlets  over  a  bright,  laugh- 


96 


RIENZI, 


ing  eye  and  a  cheek  to  whose  native  olive  now  rose  a 
slight  blush,  turned  to  him  ere  he  could  reply  to  the 
welcome  he  had  received. 

“  Signor  cavalier,”  said  she,  “  you  now  see  to  what  I 
have  decoyed  you.  Own  that  this  is  pleasanter  than  the 
sights  and  sounds  of  the  city  we  have  left.  You  gaze  on 
me  in  surprise.  See,  my  queen,  how  speechless  the 
marvel  of  your  court  has  made  our  new  gallant ;  I  assure 
you  he  could  talk  quickly  enough  when  he  had  only  us 
to  confer  with  :  nay,  I  was  forced  to  impose  silence  on 
him.” 

“Oh  !  then  you  have  not  yet  informed  him  of  the  cus¬ 
tom  and  origin  of  the  court  he  enters  ?”  quoth  she  of  the 
laurel-wreath. 

“No,  my  queen;  I  thought  all  description  given  in 
such  a  spot  as  our  poor  Florence  now  is  would  fail  of  its 
object.  My  task  is  done,  I  resign  him  to  your  grace  I  ” 

So  saying,  the  lady  tripped  lightly  away,  and  began 
coquettishly  sleeking  her  locks  in  the  smooth  mirror  of  a 
marble  basin,  whose  waters  trickled  over  the  margin  upon 
the  grass  below,  ever  and  anon  glancing  archly  towards 
the  stranger,  and  sufficiently  at  hand  to  overhear  all  that 
was  said. 

“In  the  first  place,  signor,  permit  us  to  inquire,”  said 
the  lady,  who  bore  the  appellation  of  queen,  “  thy  name, 
rank,  and  birth-place.” 

“Madam,”  returned  Adrian,  “I  came  hither  little 
dreaming  to  answer  questions  respecting  myself;  but 
what  it  pleases  you  to  ask,  it  must  please  me  to  reply  to. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  9t 

My  name  is  Adrian  di  Gastello,  one  of  the  Roman  house 
of  the  Colonna.” 

“A  noble  column  of  a  noble  house!”  answered  the 
queen.  “  For  us,  respecting  whom  your  curiosity  may 
perhaps  be  aroused,  know  that  we  six  ladies  of  Florence, 
deserted  by  or  deprived  of  our  kin  and  protectors,  formed 
the  resolution  to  retire  to  this  palace,  where,  if  death 
comes,  it  comes  stripped  of  half  its  horrors  ;  and  as  the 
learned  tell  us  that  sadness  engenders  the  awful  malady, 
so  you  see  us  sworn  foes  to  sadness.  Six  cavaliers  of 
our  acquaintance  agreed  to  join  us.  We  pass  our  days, 
whether  many  or  few,  in  whatever  diversions  we  can  find 
or  invent.  Music  and  the  dance,  merry  tales  and  lively 
songs,  with  such  slight  change  of  scene  as  from  sward  to 
shade,  from  alley  to  fountain,  fill  up  our  time,  and  pre¬ 
pare  us  for  peaceful  sleep  and  happy  dreams.  Each 
lady  is  by  turns  queen  of  our  fairy  court,  as  is  my  lot  this 
dav.  One  law  forms  the  code  of  our  constitution  —  that 
nothing  sad  shall  be  admitted.  We  would  live  as  if 
yonder  city  were  not,  and  as  if  [added  the  fair  queen, 
with  a  slight  sigh]  youth,  grace,  and  beauty,  could  endure 
for  ever.  One  of  our  knights  madly  left  us  for  a  day, 
promising  to  return  ;  we  have  seen  him  no  more  ;  we  will 
not  guess  what  hath  chanced  to  him.  It  became  neces¬ 
sary  to  fill  up  his  place ;  we  drew  lots  who  should  seek 
his  substitute;  it  fell  upon  the  ladies  who  have  —  not,  I 
trust,  to  your  displeasure  —  brought  you  hither.  Fair 
sir,  my  explanation  is  made.” 

“Alas,  lovely  queen,”  said  Adrian,  wrestling  strongly, 
IT.  — 9 


G 


98 


RIENZI, 


but  vainly,  with  the  bitter  disappointment  he  felt  —  ‘‘I 
cannot  be  one  of  your  happy  circle ;  I  am  in  myself  a 
violation  of  your  law.  I  am  filled  with  but  one  sad  and 
anxious  thought,  to  which  all  mirth  would  seem  impiety. 
I  am  a  seeker  amongst  the  living  and  the  dead  for  one 
being  of  whose  fate  I  am  uncertain  ;  and  it  was  only  by 
the  words  that  fell  from  my  fair  conductor,  that  I  have 
been  decoyed  hither  from  my  mournful  task.  Suffer  me, 
gracious  lady,  to  return  to  Florence.” 

The  queen  looked  in  mute  vexation  towards  the  dark¬ 
eyed  Mariana,  who  returned  the  glance  by  one  equally 
expressive,  and  then  suddenly  stepping  up  to  Adrian,  she 
said  — 

‘‘But,  signor,  if  I  should  still  keep  my  promise,  if  I 
should  be  able  to  satisfy  thee  of  the  health  and  safety  of 
Irene.” 

“  Irene  I  ”  echoed  Adrian  in  surprise,  forgetful  at  the 
moment  that  he  had  before  revealed  the  name  of  her  he 
sought — “Irene  —  Irene  di  Gabrini,  sister  of  the  once- 
renowned  Bienzi !  ” 

“The  same,”  replied  Mariana,  quickly;  “I  knew  her, 
as  I  told  you.  Nay,  signor,  I  do  not  deceive  thee.  It 
is  true  that  I  cannot  bring  thee  to  her ;  but  better  as  it 
is,  — she  went  awmy  many  days  ago  to  one  of  the  towns 
of  Lombardy,  which,  they  say,  the  pestilence  has  not  yet 
pierced.  Now,  noble  sir,  is  not  your  heart  lightened? 
and  will  you  so  soon  be  a  deserter  from  the  Court  of 
Loveliness ;  and  perhaps,”  she  added,  with  a  soft  look 
from  her  large  dark  eyes,  “of  Love?” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


99 


“  Dare  I,  in  truth,  believe  you,  lady  I  ”  said  Adrian, 
all  delighted,  yet  still  half  doubting. 

“Would  I  deceive  a  true  lover,  as  methinks  you  are? 
Be  assured.  Nay,  queen,  receive  your  subject.” 

The  queen  extended  her  hand  to  Adrian,  and  led  him 
to  the  group  that  still  stood  on  the  grass  at  a  little  dis¬ 
tance.  They  welcomed  him  as  a  brother,  and  soon  for¬ 
gave  his  abstracted  courtesies  in  compliment  to  his  good 
mien  and  illustrious  name. 

The  queen  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  party  again 
ranged  themselves  on  the  sward.  Each  lady  beside  each 
gallant.  “You,  Mariana,  if  not  fatigued,”  said  the 
queen,  “  shall  take  the  lute  and  silence  these  noisy  grass¬ 
hoppers,  which  chirp  about  us  with  as  much  pretension 
as  if  they  were  nightingales.  Sing,  sweet  subject,  sing ; 
and  let  it  be  the  song  our  dear  friend.  Signor  Yisdomini,* 
made  for  a  kind  of  inaugural  anthem  to  such  as  we  ad¬ 
mitted  to  our  court.” 

Mariana,  who  had  reclined  herself  by  the  side  of 
Adrian,  took  up  the  lute,  and  after  a  short  prelude,  sang 
the  words  thus  imperfectly  translated :  — 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  FLORENTINE  LADY. 

“Enjoy  the  more  the  smiles  of  noon, 

If  doubtful  be  the  morrow ; 

-  And  know  the  Fort  of  Life  is  soon 
Betray’d  to  Death  by  Sorrow ! 


*  I  know  not  if  this  be  the  same  Visdomini  who,  three  years 
afterwards,  with  one  of  the  Medici,  conducted  so  gallant  a  reinforce¬ 
ment  to  Scarperia,  then  besieged  by  Visconti  d’  Oleggio 


100 


RIENZI, 

Death  claims  us  all :  —  then,  Grief,  away  I 
We’ll  own  no  meaner  master; 

The  clouds  that  darken  round  the  day, 

But  bring  the  night  the  faster. 

Love  —  feast  —  be  merry  while. on  earth, 

Such,  Grave,  should  be  thy  moral ; 

E’en  Death  himself  is  friends  with  Mirth, 

And  veils  the  tomb  with  laurel.* 

While  gazing  on  the  eyes  I  love, 

New  life  to  mine  is  given  — 

If  joy  the  lot  of  saints  above, 

Joy  fits  us  best  for  Heaven.” 

To  this  song,  which  was  much  applauded,  succeeded 
those  light  and  witty  tales  in  which  the  Italian  novelists 
furnished  Yoltaire  and  Marmontel  with  a  model  —  each, 
in  his  or  her  turn,  taking  up  the  discourse,  and  with  an 
equal  dexterity  avoiding  every  lugubrious  image  or 
mournful  reflection  that  might  remind  those  graceful 
idlers  of  the  vicinity  of  death.  At  any  other  time  the 
temper  and  accomplishments  of  the  young  Lord  di  Gas¬ 
tello  would  have  fitted  him  to  enjoy  and  to  shine  in  that 
Arcadian  court.  But  now  he  in  vain  sought  to  dispel 
the  gloom  from  his  brow,  and  the  anxious  thought  from 
his  heart.  He  revolved  the  intelligence  he  had  received, 
wondered,  guessed,  hoped,  and  dreaded  still ;  and  if  for 
a  moment  his  mind  returned  to  the  scene  about  him,  his 
nature,  too  truly  poetical  for  the  false  sentiment  of  the 
place,  asked  itself  in  what,  save  the  polished  exterior,  and 

*  At  that  time,  in  Italy,  the  laurel  was  frequently  planted  over 
the  dead. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


101 


the  graceful  circumstance,  the  mirth  that  he  now  so  re¬ 
luctantly  witnessed,  differed  from  the  brutal  revels  in  the 
convent  of  Santa  Maria — each  alike  in  its  motive,  though 
so  differing  in  the  manner  —  equally  callous  and  equally 
selfish,  coining  horror  into  enjoyment.  The  fair  Mariana, 
whose  partner  had  been  reft  from  her,  as  the  queen  bad 
related,  was  in  no  mind  to  lose  the  new  one  she  had 
gained.  She  pressed  upon  him  from  time  to  time  the 
wine-flask  and  the  fruits  ;  and  in  those  unmeaning  cour¬ 
tesies  her  hand  gently  lingered  upon  his.  At  length,  the 
hour  arrived  when  the  companions  retired  to  the  palace, 
during  the  fiercer  heats  of  noon  —  to  come  forth  again  in 
the  declining  sun,  to  sup  by  the  side  of  the  fountain,  to 
dance,  to  sing,  and  to  make  merry  by  torchlight  and  the 
stars  till  the  hour  of  rest.  But  Adrian,  not  willing  to 
continue  the  entertainment,  no  sooner  found  himself  in 
the  apartment  to  which  he  was  conducted,  than  he  re¬ 
solved  to  effect  a  silent  escape,  as  under  all  circum¬ 
stances  the  shortest,  and  not  perhaps  the  least  courteous, 
farewell  left  to  him.  Accordingly,  when  all  seemed  quiet 
and  hushed  in  the  repose  common  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  South  during  that  hour,  he  left  his  apartment,  de¬ 
scended  the  stairs,  passed  the  outer  court,  and  was  already 
at  the  gate,  when  he  heard  himself  called  by  a  voice  that 
spoke  vexation  and  alarm.  He  turned  to  behold  Ma¬ 
riana. 

“  Why,  how  now.  Signor  di  Gastello,  is  our  company 
so  unpleasing,  is  our  music  so  jarring,  or  are  our  brows 
so  wrinkled,  that  you  should  fly  as  the  traveller  flies  from 
9* 


102 


RIENZI, 


the  witches  he  surprises  at  Benevento  ?  Nay,  you  cannot 
mean  to  leave  us  yet  ?  ” 

“Fair  dame,”  returned  the  cavalier,  somewhat  discon¬ 
certed,  “  it  is  in  vain  that  I  seek  to  rally  my  mournful 
spirits,  or  to  fit  myself  for  the  court  to  which  nothing  sad 
should  come.  Your  laws  hang  about  me  like  a  culprit 
—  better  timely  flight  than  harsh  expulsion.” 

As  he  spoke  he  moved  on,  and  would  have  passed  the 
gate,  but  Mariana  caught  his  arm. 

“Nay,”  said  she,  softly;  “are  there  no  eyes  of  dark 
light,  and  no  neck  of  wintry  snow,  that  can  compensate 
to  thee  for  the  absent  one  ?  Tarry  and  forget,  as  doubt¬ 
less  in  absence  even  thou  art  forgotten  !  ” 

“Lady,”  answered  Adrian,  with  great  gravity,  not  un¬ 
mixed  with  an  ill-suppressed  disdain,  “I  have  not  so¬ 
journed  long  enough  amidst  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
woe,  to  bliint  my  heart  and  spirit  into  callousness  to  all 
around.  Enjoy,  if  thou  canst,  and  gather  the  rank  roses 
of  the  sepulchre  ;  but  to  me,  haunted  still  by  funereal 
images,  beauty  fails  to  bring  delight,  and  love,  even  holy 
love — seems  darkened  by  the  shadow  of  death.  Pardon 
me,  and  farewell.” 

“  Go,  then,”  said  the  Florentine,  stung  and  enraged  at 
his  coldness  ;  “  go  and  find  your  mistress  amidst  the  as¬ 
sociations  on  which  it  pleases  your  philosophy  to  dwell. 
I  did  but  deceive  thee,  blind  fool !  as  I  had  hoped  for 
thine  own  good,  when  I  told  thee  Irene  (was  that  her 

name  ?)  was  gone  from  Florence.  Of  her  I  know  naught, 

* 

and  heard  naught,  save  from  thee.  Go  back  and  search 
the  vault,  and  see  whether  thou  lovest  her  still  I  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


103 


CHAPTER  lY. 

We  obtain  what  we  seek,  and  know  it  not. 

In  the  fiercest  heat  of  the  day,  and  on  foot,  Adrian  re¬ 
turned  to  Florence.  As  he  approached  the  city,  all  that 
festive  and  gallant  scene  he  had  quitted  seemed  to  him 
like  a  dream  ;  a  vision  of  the  gardens  and  bowers  of  an 
enchantress,  from  which  he  woke  abruptly  as  a  criminal 
may  wake  on  the  morning  of  his  doom  to  see  the  scaffold 
and  the  deathsman  ;  —  so  much  did  each  silent  and  lonely 
step  into  the  funereal  city  bring  back  his  bewildered 
thoughts  at  once  to  life  and  to  death.  The  parting 
words  of  Mariana  sounded  like  a  knell  at  his  heart.  And 
now,  as  he  passed  on — the  heat  of  the  day,  the  lurid 
atmosphere,  long  fatigue,  alternate  exhaustion  and  excite¬ 
ment,  combining  with  the  sickness  of  disappointment,  the 
fretting  consciousness  of  precious  moments  irretrievably 
lost,  and  his  utter  despair  of  forming  any  systematic 
mode  of  search  —  fever  began  rapidly  to  burn  through 
his  veins.  His  temples  felt  oppressed  as  with  the  weight 
of  a  mountain  ;  his  lips  parched  with  intolerable  thirst ; 
his  strength  seemed  suddenly  to  desert  him  ;  and  it  was 
with  pain  and  labor  that  he  dragged  one  languid  limb 
after  the  other. 

‘  I  feel  it,”  thought  he,  with  the  loathing  nausea  and 


104 


RI  E  N  ZI, 


shivering  dread  with  which  nature  struggles  ever  against 
death;  “I  feel  it  upon  me  —  the  Devouring  and  the 
Viewless  —  I  shall  perish,  and  without  saving  her;  nor 
shall  even  one  grave  contain  us  !  ” 

But  these  thoughts  served  rapidly  to  augment  the 
disease  which  began  to  prey  upon  him ;  and  ere  he 
reached  the  interior  of  the  city,  even  thought  itself  for¬ 
sook  him.  The  images  of  men  and  houses  grew  indis¬ 
tinct  and  shadowy  before  his  eyes  ;  the  burning  pave¬ 
ment  became  unsteady  and  reeling  beneath  his  feet ; 
delirium  gathered  over  him,  and  he  went  on  his  way 
muttering  broken  and  incoherent  words ;  the  few  who 
met  fled  from  him  in  dismay.  Even  the  monks,  still  con¬ 
tinuing  their  solemn  and  sad  processions,  passed  with  a 
murmured  hene  voMs  to  the  other  side  from  that  on 
which  his  steps  swerved  and  faltered.  And  from  a  booth 
at  the  corner  of  a  street,  four  Becchini,  drinking  together, 
fixed  upon  him  from  their  black  masks  the  gaze  that 
vultures  fix  upon  some  dying  wanderer  of  the  desert. 
Still  he  crept  on,  stretching  out  his  arms  like  a  man  in 
the  dark,  and  seeking  with  the  vague  sense  that  yet 
struggled  against  the  gathering  delirium,  to  find  out  the 
mansion  in  which  he  had  fixed  his  home  ;  though  many  as 
fair  to  live,  and  as  meet  to  die  in,  stood  with  open  portals 
before  and  beside  his  path. 

“Irene,  Irene!”  he  cried,  sometimes  in  a  muttered 
and  low  tone,  sometimes  in  a  wild  and  piercing  shriek, 
“  where  art  thou  ?  Where  ?  I  come  to  snatch  thee  from 
them ;  they  shall  not  have  thee,  the  foul  and  ugly  fiends  I 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


105 


Pall !  how  the  air  smells  of  dead  flesh  !  Irene,  Irene  ! 
we  will  away  to  mine  own  palace  and  the  heavenly  lake 
• — Irene  I  ” 

While  thus  benighted,  and  thus  exclaiming,  two  females 
suddenly  emerged  from  a  neighboring  house,  masked  and 
mantled. 

“Yain  wisdom  I”  said  the  taller  and  slighter  of  the 
two,  whose  mantle,  it  is  here  necessary  to  observe,  was 
of  a  deep  blue,  richly  broidered  with  silver,  of  a  shape 
and  a  color  not  common  in  Florence,  but  usual  in  Rome, 
where  the  dress  of  ladies  of  the  higher  rank  was  singu¬ 
larly  bright  in  hue  and  ample  in  fold — thus  differing  from 
*  the  simpler  and  more  slender  draperies  of  the  Tuscan 
fashion  —  “  Yain  wisdom,  to  fly  a  relentless  and  certain 
doom  !  ” 

“  Why,  thou  wouldst  not  have  us  hold  the.  same  home 
with  three  of  the  dead  in  the  next  chamber  —  strangers 
too  to  us  —  when  Florence  has  so  many  empty  halls  ? 
Trust  me,  we  shall  not  walk  far  ere  we  suit  ourselves 
with  a  safer  lodgment.” 

Hitherto,  indeed,  we  have  been  miraculously  pre¬ 
served,”  sighed  the  other,  whose  voice  and  shape  were 
those  of  extreme  youth  ;  “  yet  would  that  we  knew  where 
to  fly  —  what  mount,  what  wood,  what  cavern,  held  my 
brother  and  his  faithful  Nina  ?  I  am  sick  with  horrors  !” 

‘Hrene,  Irene!  Well  then,  if  thou  art  at  Milan  or 
some  Lombard  town,  why  do  I  linger  here  I  To  horse, 
to  horse  1  Oh,  no,  no  !— not  the  horse  with  the  bells  ! 
not  the  death-cart.”  With  a  cry,  a  shriek,  louder  than 


lOG 


RTENZI, 


the  loudest  of  the  sick  man’s,  broke  that  young  female 
away  from  her  companion.  It  seemed  as  if  a  single  step 
took  her  to  the  side  of  Adrian.  She  caught  his  arm  — 
she  looked  in  his  face  —  she  met  his  unconscious  eyes 
bright  with  a  fearful  fire.  “  It  has  seized  him  !  ”  (she 
then  said  in  a  deep  but  calm  tone)  —  “  the  Plague  !  ” 

“Away,  away  !  are  you  mad  ?  ”  cried  her  companion  ; 
“hence,  hence,  —  touch  me  not  now  thou  hast  touched 
him  —  go  !  —  here  we  part !  ” 

“  Help  me  to  bear  him  somewhere ;  see,  he  faints,  he 
droops,  he  falls! — help  me,  dear  Signora,  for  pity,  for 
the  love  of  God  1  ” 

But,  wholly  possessed  by  the  selfish  fear  which  over¬ 
came  all  humanity  in  that  miserable  time,  the  elder 
woman,  though  naturally  kind,  pitiful,  and  benevolent, 
fled  rapidly  away,  and  soon  vanished.  Thus  left  alone 
with  Adrian,  who  had  now,  in  the  fierceness  of  the  fever 
that  preyed  within  him,  fallen  on  the  ground,  the  strength 
and  nerve  of  that  young  girl  did  not  forsake  her.  She 
tore  off  the  heavy  mantle  which  encumbered  her  arms, 
and  cast  it  from  her ;  and  then,  lifting  up  the  face  of  her 
lover  —  for  who  but  Irene  was  that  weak  woman,  thus 
shrinking  not  from  the  contagion  of  death  ? — she  sup- 
ported  him  on  her  breast,  and  called  aloud  and  again  for 
help.  At  length  the  Becchini,  in  the  booth  before  noticed 
(hardened  in  their  profession,  and  who,  thus  hardened, 
better  than  the  most  cautious,  escaped  the  pestilence), 
lazily  approached  —  “  Quicker,  quicker,  for  Christ’s 
love  I”  said  Irene.  “  I  have  much  gold  ;  I  will  reward 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


107 


you  well :  help  me  to  bear  him  under  the  nearest 
roof.” 

“  Leave  him  to  us,  young  lady  :  we  have  had  our  eye 
upon  him,”  said  one  of  the  grave-diggers.  “  We’ll  do 
our  duty  by  him,  first  and  last.” 

“No  —  no  I  touch  not  his  head  —  that  is  my  care. 
There,  I  will  help  you  ;  so, — now  then, — but  be  gentle  !” 

Assisted  by  these  portentous  officers,  Irene,  who  would 
not  release  her  hold,  but  seemed  to  watch  over  the  beloved 
eyes  and  lips  (set  and  closed  as  they  were),  as  if  to  look 
back  the  soul  from  parting,  bore  Adrian  into  a  neigh¬ 
boring  house,  and  laid  him  on  a  bed  ;  from  which  Irene 
(preserving,  as  only  women  do,  in  such  times,  the  presence 
of  mind  and  vigilant  providence  which  make  so  sublime 
a  contrast  with  their  keen  susceptibilities)  caused  them 
first  to  cast  off  the  draperies  and  clothing,  which  might 
retain  additional  infection.  She  then  despatched  them 
for  new  furniture,  and  for  whatsoever  leech  money  might 
yet  bribe  k)  a  duty  now  chiefly  abandoned  to  those  heroic 
Brotherhoods,  who,  however  vilified  in  modern  judgment 
by  the  crimes  of  some  unworthy  members,  were  yet,  in 
the  dark  times,  the  best,  the  bravest,  and  the  holiest 
agents  to  whom  God  ever  delegated  the  power  to  resist 
the  oppressor — to  feed  the  hungry — to  minister  to  woe  ; 
and  who,  alone  amidst  that  fiery  pestilence  (loosed,  as  it 
were,  a  demon  from  the  abyss,  to  shiver  into  atoms  all 
that  binds  the  world  to  Virtue  and  to  Law),  seemed  to 
awaken,  as  by  the  sound  of  an  angel’s  trumpet,  to  that 
noblest  chivalry  of  the  Cross  —  whose  faith  is  the  scorn 


108 


RIENZI, 


of  self — wliose  hope  is  beyond  the  Lazar-house — whose 
feet,  already  winged  for  immortality,  trampled,  with  a 
conqueror’s  march,  upon  the  graves  of  Death  ! 

While  this  the  ministry  and  the  office  of  love,  —  along 
that  street  in  which  Adrian  and  Irene  had  met  at  last  — 
came  singing,  reeling,  roaring,  the  dissolute  and  aban¬ 
doned  crew  who  had  fixed  their  quarters  in  the  Convent 
of  Santa  Maria  de’  Pazzi,  their  bravo  chief  at  their  head, 
and  a  nun  (no  longer  in  nun’s  garments)  upon  either 
arm.  “A  health  to  the  Plague  !  ”  shouted  the  ruffian  : 
‘‘A  health  to  the  Plague  !  ”  echoed  his  frantic  Bacchanals. 

“A  health  to  the  Plague,  may  she  ever,  as  now, 

Loose  the  rogue  from  his  chain,  and  the  nun  from  her  vow ; 

To  the  gaoler  a  sword  —  to  the  captive  a  key, 

Hurrah  for  Earth’s  Curse! — ’tis  a  blessing  to  me.” 

“Holla!”  cried  the  chief,  stopping;  “here,  Mar- 
gherita ;  here’s  a  brave  cloak  for  thee,  my  girl :  silver 
enow  on  it  to  fill  thy  purse,  if  it  ever  grow  empty  ;  which 
it  may,  if  ever  the  plague  grow  slack.” 

“Nay,”  said  the  girl,  who,  amidst  all  the  havoc  of 
debauch,  retained  much  of  youth  and  beauty  in  her  form 
and  face;  “nay,  Guidotto  ;  perhaps  it  has  infection.’ 

“Pooh,  child,  silver  never  infects.  Clap  it  on,  clap  it 
on.  Besides,  fate  is  fate,  and  when  it  is  thine  hour  there 
will  be  other  means  besides  the  gavocciolo.  ” 

So  saying,  he  seized  the  mantle,  threw  it  roughly  over 
her  shoulders,  and  dragged  her  on  as  before,  half-pleased 
with  the  finery,  half-frightened  with  the  danger ;  while 
gradually  died  away,  along  the  lurid  air  and  the  mournful 
streets,  the  chant  of  that  most  miserable  mirth. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


]0\) 


CHAPTER  Y. 

The  Error. 

For  three  days,  the  fatal  three  days,  did  Adrian  remain 
bereft  of  strength  and  sense.  But  he  was  uot  smitten  by 
the  scourge  which  his  devoted  and  generous  nurse  had 
anticipated.  It  was  a  fierce  and  dangerous  fever,  brought 
on  by  the  great  fatigue,  restlessness,  and  terrible  agitation 
he  had  undergone. 

No  professional  mediciner  could  be  found  to  attend 
him  ;  but  a  good  friar,  better  perhaps  skilled  in  the  heal¬ 
ing  art  than  many  who  claimed  its  monopoly,  visited  him 
daily.  And  in  the  long  and  frequent  absences  to  which 
his  other  and  numerous  duties  compelled  the  monk,  there 
was  one  ever  at  hand  to  smooth  the  pillow,  to  wipe  the 
brow,  to  listen  to  the  moan,  to  watch  the  sleep.  And 
even  in  that  dismal  office,  when,  in  the  frenzy  of  the  suf¬ 
ferer,  her  name,  coupled  with  terms  of  passionate  endear¬ 
ment,  broke  from  his  lips,  a  thrill  of  strange  pleasure 
crossed  the  heart  of  the  betrothed,  which  she  chid  as  if  it 
were  a  crime.  But  even  the  most  unearthly  love  is  selfish 
in  the  rapture  of  being  loved  !  Words  cannot  tell,  heart 
cannot  divine,  the  mingled  emotions  that  broke  over  her 
when,  in  some  of  these  incoherent  ravings,  she  dimly  un¬ 
derstood  that  for  her  the  city  had  been  sought,  the  death 
II.— 10 


110 


RI  EN  ZI, 


dared,  the  danger  incurred.  And  as  then  bending  pas¬ 
sionately  to  kiss  that  burning  brow,  her  tears  fell  fast  over 
the  idol  of  her  youth,  the  fountains  from  which  they  gushed 
were  those,  fathomless  and  countless,  which  a  life  could 
not  weep  away.  Not  an  impulse  of  the  human  and  the 
woman  heart  that  was  not  stirred  ;  the  adoring  gratitude, 
the  meek  wonder  thus  to  he  loved,  while  deeming  it  so 
simple  a  merit  thus  to  love  ;  —  as  if  all  sacrifice  in  her 
were  a  thing  of  course, — to  her,  a  virtue  nature  could  not 
paragon,  worlds  could  not  repay  !  And  there  he  lay,  the 
victim  to  his  own  fearless  faith,  helpless — dependent  upon 
her — a  thing  between  life  and  death,  to  thank,  to  serve — 
to  be  proud  of,  yet  protect,  to  compassionate,  yet  revere 
—  the  saver,  to  be  saved  I  Never  seemed  one  object  to 
demand  at  once  from  a  single  heart  so  many  and  so  pro¬ 
found  emotions  ;  the  romantic  enthusiasm  of  the  girl  — 
the  fond  idolatry  of  the  bride  —  the  watchful  providence 
of  the  mother  over  her  child. 

And  strange  to  say,  with  all  the  excitement  of  that 
lonely  watch,  scarcely  stirring  from  his  side,  taking  food 
only  that  her  strength  might  not  fail  her, — unable  to  close 
her  eyes, — though,  from  the  same  cause,  she  would  fain 
have  taken  rest,  when  slumber  fell  upon  her  charge  — 
with  all  such  wear  and  tear  of  frame  and  heart,  she  seemed 
wonderfully  supported.  And  the  holy  man  marvelled, 
in  each  visit,  to  see  the  cheek  of  the  nurse  still  fresh,  and 
her  eye  still  bright.  In  her  own  superstition  she  thought 
and  felt  that  Heaven  gifted  her  with  a  preternatural 
power  to  be  true  to  so  sacred  a  charge  ;  and  in  this  fancy 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


Ill 


she  did  not  wholly  err  :  —  for  Heaven  did  gift  her  with 
that  diviner  power,  when  it  planted  in  so  soft  a  heart  the 
enduring  might  and  energy  of  Affection  !  The  friar  had 
visited  the  sick  man  late  on  the  third  night,  and  adminis¬ 
tered  to  him  a  strong  sedative.  “  This  night,”  said  he  to 
Irene,  “  will  be  the  crisis :  should  he  awaken,  as  I  trust 
he  may,  with  a  returning  consciousness,  and  a  calm  pulse, 
he  will  live  :  if  not,  young  daughter,  prepare  for  the 
worst.  But  should  you  note  any  turn  in  the  disease  that 
may  excite  alarm,  or  require  my  attendance,  this  scroll 
will  inform  you  where  I  am,  if  God  spare  me  still,  at  each 
hour  of  the  night  and  morning.” 

The  monk  retired,  and  Irene  resumed  her  watch. 

The  sleep  of  Adrian  was  at  first  broken  and  interrupted 
—his  features,  his  exclamations,  his  gestures,  all  evinced 
great  agony,  whether  mental  or  bodily  :  it  seemed,  as 
perhaps  it  was,  a  fierce  and  doubtful  struggle  between 
life  and  death  for  the  conquest  of  the  sleeper.  Patient, 
silent,  breathing  but  by  long-drawn  gasps,  Irene  sat  at 
the  bed-head.  The  lamp  was  removed  to  the  further  end 
of  the  chamber,  and  its  ray,  shaded  by  he  draperies,  did 
not  suffice  to  give  to  her  gaze  more  than  the  outline  of  the 
countenance  she  watched.  In  that  awful  suspense,  all  the 
thoughts  that  hitherto  had  stirred  her  mind  lay  hushed 
and  mute.  She  was  only  sensible  to  that  untterable  fear 
which  few  of  us  have  been  happy  enough  not  to  know. 
That  crushing  weight  under  which  we  can  scarcely  breathe 
or  move,  the  avalanche  over  us,  freezing  and  suspended, 
which  we  cannot  escape  from,  beneath  which,  every  mo- 


112 


RIENZI, 

merit,  we  may  be  buried  and  overwhelmed.  The  whole 
destiny  of  life  was  in  the  chances  of  that  single  night  I  It 
was  just  as  Adrian  at  last  seemed  to  glide  into  a  deeper 
and  serener  slumber,  that  the  bells  of  the  death-cart  broke 
with  their  boding  knell  the  palpable  silence  of  the  streets. 
Now  hushed,  now  revived,  as  the  cart  stopped  for  its 
gloomy  passengers,  and  coming  nearer  and  nearer  after 
every  pause.  At  length  she  heard  the  heavy  wheels  stop 
under  the  very  casement,  and  a  voice  deep  and  muffled 
calling  aloud,  “Bring  out  the  dead!”  She  rose,  and 
with  a  noiseless  step,  passed  to  secnre  the  door,  when  the 
dull  lamp  gleamed  upon  the  dark  and  shrouded  forms  of 
the  Becchini. 

“You  have  not  marked  the  door,  nor  set  out  the 
body,”  said  one  gruffly ;  “but  this  is  the  third  night!  He 
is  ready  for  us.” 

“  Hush,  he  sleeps  —  away,  quick,  it  is  not  the  plague 
that  seized  him.” 

“Not  the  plague  ?”  growled  the  Becchino  in  a  disap¬ 
pointed  tone  ;  “I  thought  no  other  illness  dared  encroach 
upon  tli£  rights  of  the  gavocciolo  I  ” 

“Go  —  here’s  monev  ;  leave  us.” 

And  the  grisly  carrier  sullenly  withdrew.  The  cart 
moved  on,  the  bell  renewed  its  summons,  till  slowly  and 
faintly  the  dreadful  larum  died  in  the  distance. 

Shading  the  lamp  with  her  hand,  Irene  stole  to  the 
bedside,  fearful  that  the  sound  and  the  intrusion  had  dis¬ 
turbed  the  slumberer.  But  his  face  was  still  locked  as  in 
a  vice,  with  that  iron  sleep.  He  stirred  not — the  breath 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


113 


scarcely  passed  his  lips  —  she  felt  his  pulse,  as  the  wan 
hand  lay  on  the  coverlid,  there  was  a  slight  beat  —  she 
was  contented  —  removed  the  light,  and,  retiring  to  a 
corner  of  the  room,  placed  the  little  cross  suspended 
round  her  neck  upon  the  table,  and  prayed,  in  her  in¬ 
tense  suffering,  to  Him  who  had  known  death,  and  who — ■ 
Son  of  Heaven  though  he  was,  and  Sovereign  of  the 
Seraphim  —  had  also  prayed,  in  his  earthly  travail,  that 
the  cup  might  pass  away. 

The  morning  broke,  not,  as  in  the  North,  slowly  and 
through  shadow,  but  with  the  sudden  glory  with  which 
in  those  climates  day  leaps  upon  earth  —  like  a  giant 
from  his  sleep.  A  sudden  smile  —  a  burnished  glow  — ^ 
and  night  had  vanished,  Adrian  still  slept ;  not  a  muscle 
seemed  to  have  stirred  ;  the  sleep  was  even  heavier  than 
before  ;  the  silence  became  a  burthen  upon  the  air.  Now, 
in  that  exceeding  torpor  so  like  unto  death,  the  solitary 
watcher  became  alarmed  and  terrified.  Time  passed  — 
morning  glided  to  noon  —  still  not  a  sound  nor  motion. 
The  sun  was  mid-way  in  heaven  —  the  friar  came  not. 
And  now  again  touching  Adrian’s  pulse,  she  felt  no 
flutter  —  she  gazed  on  him,  appalled  and  confounded; 
surely  naught  living  could  be  so  still  and  pale.  “  Was  it 

indeed  sleep,  might  it  not  be - ”  she  turned  away,  sick 

and  frozen  ;  her  tongue  clove  to  her  lips.  Why  did  the 
father  tarry  ?  —  she  would  go  to  him  —  she  would  learn 
the  worst  —  she  could  forbear  no  longer.  She  glanced 
over  the  scroll  the  monk  had  left  her  :  “From  sunrise,” 
it  said,  “  I  shall  be  at  the  Convent  of  the  Dominicans. 

10  *  H 


114 


RIENZI, 


Death  has  stricken  many  of  the  brethren,”  The  convent 
was  at  some  distance,  but  she  knew  the  spot,  and  fear 
would  wing  her  steps.  She  gave  one  wistful  look  at  the 
sleeper,  and  rushed  from  the  house.  “  I  shall  see  thee 
again  presently,”  she  murmured.  Alas  !  what  hope  can 
calculate  beyond  the  moment  ?  And  who  shall  claim  the 
tenure  of  “  The  Again  ?  ” 

It  was  not  many  minutes  after  Irene  had  left  the  room, 
ere,  with  a  long  sigh,  Adrian  opened  his  eyes  —  an 
altered  and  another  man  ;  the  fever  was  gone,  the  re¬ 
viving  pulse  beat  low  indeed,  but  calm.  His  mind  was 
once  more  master  of  his  body,  and  though  weak  and 
feeble,  the  danger  was  past,  and  life  and  intellect  re¬ 
gained. 

“  I  have  slept  long,”  he  muttered ;  “  and  oh,  such 
dreams  !  And  methought  I  saw  Irene,  but  could  not  ' 
speak  to  her,  and  while  I  attempted  to  grasp  her,  her 
face  changed,  her  form  dilated,  and  I  was  in  the  clutch 
of  the  foul  grave-digger.  It  is  late  —  the  sun  is  high — I 
must  be  up  and  stirring.  Irene  is  in  Lombardy,  No, 
no  ;  that  was  a  lie,  a  wicked  lie ;  she  is  at  Florence,  I 
must  renew  my  search.” 

As  this  duty  came  to  his  remembrance,  he  rose  from 
the  bed  —  he  was  amazed  at  his  own  debility ;  at  first  he 
could  not  stand  without  support  from  the  wall ;  by 
degrees,  however,  he  so  far  regained  the  mastery  of  his 
limbs  as  to  walk,  though  with  effort  and  pain.  A  raven¬ 
ing  hunger  preyed  upon  him,  he  found  some  scanty  and 
light  food  in  the  chamber,  which  he  devoured  eagerly. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIEUNES. 


115 


And  with  scarce  less  eagerness  laved  his  enfeebled  form 
and  haggard  face  with  the  water  that  stood  at  hand.  He 
now  felt  refreshed  and  invigorated,  and  began  to  indue 
his  garments,  which  he  found  thrown  on  a  heap  beside 
the  bed.  He  gazed  with  surprise  and  a  kind  of  self¬ 
compassion  upon  his  emaciated  hands  and  shrunken 
limbs,  and  began  now  to  comprehend  that  he  must  have 
had  some  severe  but  unconscious  illness.  ‘‘Alone,  too,” 
thought  he  ;  “no  one  near  to  tend  me  !  Nature  my  only 
nurse  !  but  alas  !  alas  I  how  long  a  time  may  thus  have 

been  wasted,  and  my  adored  Irene - -  quick,  quick,  not 

a  moment  more  will  I  lose.” 

He  soon  found  himself  in  the  open  street :  the  air  re¬ 
vived  him ;  and  that  morning  sprung  up  the  blessed 
breeze,  the  first  known  for  weeks.  He  wandered  on  very 
slowly  and  feebly  till  he  came  to  a  broad  square,  from 
which,  in  the  vista,  might  be  seen  one  of  the  principal 
gates  of  Florence,  and  the  fig-trees  and  olive-groves 
beyond.  It  was  then  that  a  pilgrim  of  tall  stature  ap¬ 
proached  towards  him  as  from  the  gate ;  his  hood  was 
thrown  back,  and  gave  to  view  a  countenance  of  great 
but  sad  command  ;  a  face,  in  whose  high  features,  massive 
brow,  and  proud,  unshrinking  gaze,  shaded  by  an  ex¬ 
pression  of  melancholy  more  stern  than  soft.  Nature 
seemed  to  have  written  majesty,  and  Fate  disaster.  As 
in  that  silent  and  dreary  place,  these  two,  the  only  tenants 
of  the  street,  now  encountered,  Adrian  stopped  abruptly, 
and  said  in  a  startled  and  doubting  voice  :  “  Do  I  dream 
still,  or  do  I  behold  Rienzi  ?  ” 


116 


RIENZI, 

The  pilgrim  paused,  also,  as  he  heard  the  name,  and 
gazing  long  on  the  attenuated  features  of  the  young  lord, 
said :  I  am  he  that  was  Rienzi !  and  you,  pale  shadow 
is  it  in  this  grave  of  Italy  that  I  meet  with  the  gay  and 
high  Colonna  ?  Alas,  young  friend,”  he  added,  in  a 
more  relaxed  and  kindly  voice,  “hath  the  plague  not 
spared  the  flower  of  the  Roman  nobles  ?  Come,  I,  the 
cruel  and  the  harsh  Tribune,  I  will  be  thy  nurse  :  he  who 
might  have  been  my  brother,  shall  yet  claim  from  me  a 
brother’s  care.” 

With  these  words  he  wound  his  arm  tenderly  round 
Adrian  ;  and  the  young  noble,  touched  by  his  compassion, 
and  agitated  by  the  surprise,  leaned  upon  Rienzi’s  breast 
in  silence. 

‘  Poor  youth,”  resumed  the  Tribune,  for  so,  since 
rather  fallen  than  deposed,  he  may  yet  be  called  ;  “  I  ever 
loved  the  young  (my  brother  died  young)  ;  and  you  more 
than  most.  What  fatality  brought  thee  hither  ?  ” 

“  Irene  I  ”  replied  Adrian,  falteringly. 

“  Is  it  so,  really  ?  Art  thou  a  Colonna,  and  yet  prize 
the  fallen  ?  The  same  duty  has  brought  me  also  to  the 
city  of  Death.  From  the  furthest  south  —  over  the 
mountains  of  the  robber  —  through  the  fastnesses  of  my 
foes  —  through  towns  in  which  the  herald  proclaimed  in 
my  ear  the  price  of  my  head  —  I  have  passed  hither,  on 
foot  and  alone,  safe  under  the  wings  of  the  Almighty 
One.  Young  man,  thou  shouldst  have  left  this  task  to 
one  who  bears  a  wizard’s  life,  and  whom  Heaven  and 
earth  yet  reserve  for  an  appointed  end  I  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


117 


The  Tribune  said  this  in  a  deep  and  inward  voice  ;  and 
in  his  raised  eye  and  solemn  brow  might  be  seen  how 
much  his  reverses  had  deepened  his  fanaticism,  and  added 
even  to  the  sanguineness  of  his  hopes. 

“  But,”  asked  Adrian,  withdrawing  gently  from  Rienzi’s 
arm,  “thou  knowest,  then,  where  Irene  is  to  be  found; 
let  us  go  together.  Lose  not  a  moment  in  this  talk  ;  time 
is  of  inestimable  value,  and  a  moment  in  this  city  is  often 
but  the  border  to  eternity.” 

“Right,”  said  Rienzi,  awakening  to  his  object.  “But 
fear  not,  I  have  dreamt  that  I  shall  save  her,  the  gem  and 
darling  of  my  house.  Fear  not,  I  have  no  fear.” 

“  Know  you  where  to  seek  ?  ”  said  Adrian,  impatiently ; 
“the  convent  holds  far  other  guests.” 

“  Ha  !  so  said  my  dream  !  ” 

“  Talk  not  now  of  dreams,”  said  the  lover  ;  “but  if  you 
have  no  other  guide,  let  us  part  at  once  in  quest  of  her.  I 
will  take  yonder  street,  you  take  the  opposite,  and  at 
sunset  let  us  meet  in  the  same  spot.” 

“  Rash  man  !  ”  said  the  Tribune,  with  great  solemnity, 
“  scoff  not  at  the  visions  which  Heaven  makes  a  parable 
to  its  Chosen.  Thou  seekest  counsel  of  thy  human  wis¬ 
dom  ;  I,  less  presumptuous,  follow  the  hand  of  the 
mysterious  Providence,  moving  even  now  before  my  gaze 
as  a  pillar  of  light  through  the  wilderness  of  dread.  Ay, 
meet  we  here  at  sunset,  and  prove  whose  guide  is  the 
most  unerring.  If  my  dream  tell  me  true,  I  shall  see  my 
sister  living,  ere  the  sun  reach  yonder  hill,  and  by  a 
church  dedicated  to  St.  Mark.” 


118 


RIENZI, 


The  grave  earnestness  with  which  Rienzi  spoke  im¬ 
pressed  Adrian  with  a  hope  which  his  reason  would  not 
acknowledge.  He  saw  him  depart  with  that  proud  and 
stately  step  to  which  his  sweeping  garments  gave  a  yet 
more  imposing  dignity,  and  then  passed  up  the  street  to 
the  right  hand.  He  had  not  got  half-way  when  he  felt 
himself  pulled  by  the  mantle.  He  turned,  and  saw  the 
shapeless  mask  of  a  Becchino. 

“  I  feared  you  were  sped,  and  that  another  had  cheated 
me  of  my  office,”  said  the  grave-digger,  “  seeing  that 
you  returned  not  to  the  old  prince’s  palace.  You  don’t 
know  me  from  the  rest  of  us,  I  see,  but  I  am  the  one  you 
told  to  seek - ” 

“  Irene  I  ” 

“  Yes,  Irene  di  Gabrini ;  you  promised  ample  re¬ 
ward.” 

“  You  shall  have  it.” 

“Follow  me.” 

The  Becchino  strode  on,  and  soon  arrived  at  a  mansion. 
He  knocked  twice  at  the  porter’s  entrance,  an  old  woman 
cautiously  opened  the  door.  “Fear  not,”  good  aunt,” 
said  the  grave-digger ;  “  this  is  the  young  lord  I  spoke 
to  thee  of.  Thou  sayest  thou  hadst  two  ladies  in  the 
palace,  who  alone  survived  of  all  the  lodgers,  and  their 
names  were  Bianca  de  Medici,  and  —  what  was  the 
other  ?  ” 

“  Irene  di  Gabrini,  a  Roman  lady.  But  I  told  thee 
this  ^vas  the  fourth  day  they  left  the  house,  terrified  by 
the  deatlis  within  it.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


119 


“  Thou  didst  so  :  and  was  there  anything  remarkable 
ill  the  dress  of  the  Signora  di  Gabririi?”  , 

Yes,  I  have  told  thee  :  a  blue  mantle,  such  as  I  have 
rarely  seen,  wrought  with  silver.’’ 

Was  the  broidery  that  of  stars,  silver  stars,”  exclaimed 
Adrian,  ‘‘  with  a  sun  in  the  centre  ?  ” 

It  was.” 

“Alas  !  alas  !  the  arms  of  the  Tribune’s  family  I  I  re¬ 
member  how  I  praised  the  mantle  the  first  day  she  wore 
it  —  the  day  on  which  we  were  betrothed  I  ” 

And  the  lover  at  once  conjectured  the  secret  sentiment 
which  had  induced  Irene  to  retain  thus  carefully  a  robe  so 
endeared  by  association. 

“You  know  no  more  of  your  lodgers?” 

“Nothing.” 

“And  is  this  all  you  have  learned,  knave  ?  ”  cried 
Adrian. 

“Patience.  I  must  bring  you  from  proof  to  proof, 
and  link  to  link,  in  order  to  win  my  reward.  Follow, 
signor.” 

The  Becchino  then  passing  through  the  several  lanes 
and  streets,  arrived  at  another  house  of  less  magnificent 
size  and  architecture.  Again  he  tapped  thrice  at  the 
parlor  door,  and  this  time  came  forth  a  man  withered, 
old,  and  palsied,  whom  death  seemed  to  disdain  to  strike. 

“Signor  Astuccio,”  said  the  Becchino,  “pardon  me; 
but  I  told  thee  I  might  trouble  thee  again.  This  is  the 
gentleman  who  wants  to  know,  what  is  often  best  unknown 
—  but  that’s  not  my  affair.  Did  a  lady  —  young  and 


120 


RIENZI, 


beautiful  —  with  dark  hair,  and  of  a  slender  form,  enter 
this  house,  stricken  with  the  first  symptom  of  the  plague, 
three  days  since  ?  ” 

“Ay,  thou  knowest  that  well  enough ;  and  thou  knowest 
still  better,  that  she  has  departed  these  two  days :  it  was 
quick  work  with  her,  quicker  than  with  most  I  ” 

“  Did  she  wear  anything  remarkable  ?  ” 

“Yes,  troublesome  man:  a  blue  cloak  with  stars  of 
silver.” 

“  Couldst  thou  guess  aught  of  her  previous  circum¬ 
stances  ?  ” 

“No,  save  that  she  raved  much  about  the  nunnery  of 
Santa  Maria  de’  Pazzi,  and  bravos,  and  sacrilege.” 

“Are  you  satisfied,  signor  ?  ”  asked  the  grave-digger, 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  turning  to  Adrian.  “  But  no,  I 
will  satisfy  thee  better,  if  thou  hast  courage.  Wilt  thou 
follow  ?  ” 

“I  comprehend  thee ;  lead  on.  Courage !  w'hat  is  there 
on  earth  now  to  fear  ?  ” 

Muttering  to  himself,  “Ay,  leave  me  alone.  I  have  a 
head  worth  something ;  I  ask  no  gentleman  to  go  by  my 
word ;  I  will  make  his  own  eyes  the  judge  of  what  my 
trouble  is  worth,”  the  grave-digger  now  led  the  way 
through  one  of  the  gates  a  little  out  of  the  city.  And 
here,  under  a  shed,  sat  six  of  his  ghastly  and  ill-omened 
brethren,  with  spades  and  pickaxes  at  their  feet. 

His  guide  now  turned  round  to  Adrian,  whose  face 
was  set,  and  resolute  in  despair. 

“  Fair  signor,”  said  he,  with  some  touch  of  lingering 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


121 


compassion,  wouldst  thou  really  convince  thine  own 
eyes  and  heart  ?  —  the  sight  may  appal,  the  contagion 
may  destroy,  thee,  —  if,  indeed,  as  it  seems  to  me.  Death 
has  not  already  written  ^  mine’  upon  thee.” 

“  Raven  of  bode  and  woe  I  ”  answered  Adrian,  “  seest 
thou  not  that  all  I  shrink  from  is  thy  voice  and  aspect  ? 
Show  me  her  I  seek,  living  or  dead.” 

“  I  will  show  her  to  you,  then,”  said  the  Becchino 
sullenly,  “  such  as  two  nights  since  she  was  committed  to 
my  charge.  Line  and  lineament  may  already  be  swept 
away,  for  the  plague  hath  a  rapid  besom  ;  but  I  have 
left  that  upon  her  by  which  you  will  know  the  Becchino 
is  no  liar.  Bring  hither  the  torches,  comrades,  and  lift 
the  door.  Never  stare;  its  the  gentleman’s  whim,  and 
he’ll  pay  it  well.” 

Turning  to  the  right  while  Adrian  mechanically  fol¬ 
lowed  his  conductors,  a  spectacle  whose  dire  philosophy 
crushes  as  with  a  wheel  all  the  pride  of  mortal  man  — 
the  spectacle  of  that  vault  in  which  earth  hides  all  that 
on  earth  flourished,  rejoiced,  exulted  —  awaited  his  eye  ! 

The  Becchini  lifted  a  ponderous  grate,  lowered  their 
torches  (scarcely  needed,  for  through  the  aperture  rushed, 
with  a  hideous  glare,  the  light  of  the  burning  sun),  and 
motioned  to  Adrian  to  advance.  He  stood  upon  the 
summit  of  the  abyss,  and  gazed  below. 

jjc 

*1*  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

^  ^  ^ 

It  was  a  large  deep  and  circular  space,  like  the  bottom 
of  an  exhausted  well.  In  niches  cut  into  the  walls  of 

II.— 11 


122 


RIENZI, 


eRi’th  around,  lay,  duly  coffined,  those  who-  had  been  the 
earliest  victims  of  the  plague,  when  the  Becchino’s 
market  was  not  yet  glutted,  and  priest  followed,  and 
friend  mourned  the  dead.  But  on  the  floor  below,  there 
was  the  loathsome  horror  !  Huddled  and  matted  together 
— some  naked,  some  in  shrouds  already  black  and  rotten 
— lay  the  later  guests,  the  unshriven  and  unblest  I  The 
torches,  the  sun,  streamed  broad  and  red  over  corruption 
in  all  its  stages,  from  the  pale-blue  tint  and  swollen 
shape,  to  the  moistened  undistinguish  able  mass,  or  the 
riddled  bones,  where  yet  clung,  in  strips  and  tatters,  the 
black  and  mangled  flesh.  In  many,  the  face  remained 
almost  perfect,  while  the  rest  of  the  body  was  but  bone ; 
the  long  hair,  the  human  face,  surmounting  the  grisly 
skeleton.  There  was  the  infant,  still  on  the  mother’s 
breast ;  there  was  the  lover,  stretched  across  the  dainty 
limbs  of  his  adored  I  The  rats  (for  they  clustered  in 
numbers  to  that  feast),  disturbed,  not  scared,  sat  up  from 
their  horrid  meal  as  the  light  glimmered  over  them,  and 
thousands  of  them  lay  round,  stark,  and  dead,  poisoned 
by  that  they  fed  on  I  There,  too,  the  wild  satire  of  the 
grave-diggers  had  cast,  though  stripped  of  their  gold  and 
jewels,  the  emblems  that  spoke  of  departed  rank  ;  —  the 
broken  wand  of  the  councillor ;  the  generaPs  baton  ;  the 
priestly  mitre  !  The  foul  and  livid  exhalations  gathered 
like  flesh  itself,  fungous  and  putrid,  upon  the  walls,  and 
the  * - 

*  The  description  in  the  text  is  borrowed  from  the  famous  wax- 
work  model  [of  the  interior  of  the  Charnel-house]  at  Florence. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


123 


*  *  *  *  * 

But  who  shall  detail  the  ineffable  and  unimaginable 
horrors  that  reigned  over  the  palace  where  the  Great 
King  received  the  prisoners  whom  the  sword  of  the 
pestilence  had  subdued  ? 

But  through  all  that  crowded  court  —  crowded  with 

beauty  and  with  birth,  with  the  strength  of  the  young 

and  the  honors  of  the  old,  and  the  valor  of  the  brave, 

and  the  wisdom  of  the  learned,  and  the  wit  of  the  scorner, 

and  the  piety  of  the  faithful  —  one  only  figure  attracted 

Adrian’s  eye.  Apart  from  the  rest,  a  late  comer  —  the 

long  locks  streaming  far  and  dark  over  arm  and  breast — ■ 

lay  a  female,  the  face  turned  partially  aside,  the  little 

seen  not  recognizable  even  by  the  mother  of  the  dead, — 

but  wrapped  round  in  that  fatal  mantle,  on  which,  though 

blackened  and  tarnished,  was  yet  visible  the  starry 

heraldry  assumed  by  those  who  claimed  the  name  of  the 

proud  Tribune  of  Borne.  Adrian  saw  no  more — he  fell 

back  in  the  arms  of  the  grave-diggers  :  when  he  recovered, 

he  was  still  without  the  gates  of  Florence — reclined  upon 

\ 

a  green  mound — his  guide  stood  beside  him,  holding  his 
steed  by  the  bridle  as  it  grazed  patiently  on  the  neglected 
grass.  The  other  brethren  of  the  axe  had  resumed  their 
seat  under  the  shed. 

“  So,  you  have  revived  !  Ah  I  I  thought  it  was  only 
the  effluvia ;  few  stand  it  as  we  do.  And  so,  as  your 
search  is  over,  deeming  you  would  now  be  quitting 
Florence  if  you  have  any  sense  left  to  you,  I  went  for 


124 


RIENZI, 


your  good  horse.  I  have  fed  him  since  your  departure 
from  the  palace.  Indeed  I  *fancied  he  would  be  my 
perquisite,  but  there  are  plenty  as  good.  Come,  young 
sir,  mount.  I  feel  a  pity  for  you,  I  know  not  why,  except 
that  you  are  the  only  one  I  have  met  for  weeks  who  seem 
to  care  for  another  more  than  for  yourself.  I  hope  you 
are  satisfied  now  that  I  showed  some  brains,  eh  ?  in 
your  service  ;  and  as  I  have  kept  my  promise,  you’ll 
keep  yours.” 

“  Friend,”  said  Adrian,  “here  is  gold  enough  to  make 
thee  rich ;  here,  too,  is  a  jewel  that  merchants  will  tell 
thee  princes  might  vie  to  purchase.  Thou  seemest  honest, 
despite  thy  calling,  or  thou  mightest  have  robbed  and 
murdered  me  long  since.  Do  me  one  favor  more.” 

“By  my  poor  mother’s  soul,  yes.” 

“  Take  yon  —  yon  clay  from  that  fearful  place.  Inter 
it  in  some  quiet  and  remote  spot — apart — alone  !  You 
promise  me?  —  you  swear  it? — it  is  well  I  And  now 
help  me^on  my  horse.  Farewell,  Italy,  and  if  I  die  not 
with  this  stroke,  may  I  die  as  befits  at  once  honor  and 
despair — with  trumpet  and  banner  round  me — in  a  well- 
fought  field  against  a  worthy  foe  !  Save  a  knightly  death, 
nothing  is  left  to  live  for  I  ” 


BOOK 


NTH. 


THE  PRISO 


Fu  rinchiuso  in  una  torre  grossa  e  larga ;  avea  libn  assai,  suo  Tito  Livio,  sue 
etorie  di  Roma,  la  Bibbia,  <fec. —  Vit.  di  Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  ii.  c.  13. 

He  was  immured  in  a  high  and  spacious  tower;  he  had  books  enough,  his  Titus 
Livius,  his  histories  of  Rome,  the  Bible,  &c. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Avignon.  —  The  two  Pages.  —  The  stranger  Beauty. 

There  is  this  difference  between  the  drama  of  Shak- 
speare,  and  that  of  almost  every  other  master  of  the  same 
art ;  that  in  the  first,  the  catastrophe  is  rarely  produced 
by  one  single  cause  —  one  simple  and  continuous  chain 
of  events.  Various  and  complicated  agencies  work  out 
the  final  end.  Unfettered  by  the  rules  of  time  and  place, 
each  time,  each  place  depicted,  presents  us  with  its  appro¬ 
priate  change  of  action,  or  of  actors.  Sometimes  the 
interest  seems  to  halt,  to  turn  aside,  to  bring  us  unawares 
upon  objects  hitherto  unnoticed,  or  upon  qualities  of  the 
characters  hitherto  hinted  at,  not  developed.  But,  in 
reality,  the  pause  in  the  action  is  but  to  collect,  to  gather 
11  *  (125) 


126 


RIENZI, 


up,  and  to  grasp,  all  the  varieties  of  circumstances  that 
conduce  to  the  Great  Result :  and  the  art  of  fiction  is 
only  deserted  for  the  fidelity  of  history.  Whoever  seeks 
to  place  before  the  world  the  true  representation  of  a 
man’s  life  and  times,  and,  enlarging  the  Dramatic  into  the 
Epic,  extends  his  narrative  over  the  vicissitudes  of  years, 
will  find  himself,  unconsciously,  in  this,  the  imitator  of 
Shakspeare.  New  characters,  each  conducive  to  the  end 
—  new  scenes,  each  leading  to  the  last,  rise  before  him 
as  he  proceeds,  sometimes  seeming  to  the  reader  to  delay, 
even  while  they  advance,  the  dread  catastrophe.  The 
sacrificial  procession  sweeps  along,  swelled  by  new  comers, 
losing  many  that  first  joined  it ;  before,  at  last,  the  same 
as  a  whole,  but  differing  in  its  components,  the  crowd 
reach  the  fated  bourn  of  the  Altar  and  the  Yictim  I 
It  is  five  years  after  the  date  of  the  events  I  have 
recorded,  and  my  story  conveys  us  to  the  papal  court  at 
Avignon  —  that  tranquil  seat  of  power,  to  which  the 
successors  of  St.  Peter  had  transplanted  the  luxury,  the 
pomp,  and  the  vices,  of  the  imperial  city.  Secure  from 
the  fraud  or  violence  of  a  powerful  and  barbarous  nobility, 
the  courtiers  of  the  See  surrendered  themselves  to  a 
holiday  of  delight — -their  repose  was  devoted  to  enjoy¬ 
ment,  and  Avignon  presented,  at  that  day,  perhaps,  the 
gayest  and  most  voluptuous  society  of  Europe.  The 
elegance  of  Clement  Yl.  had  diffused  an  air  of  literary 
refinement  over  the  grosser  pleasures  of  the  place,  and 
the  spirit  of  Petrarch  still  continued  to  work  its  way 
through  the  councils  of  faction  and  the  orgies  of  debauch. 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


127 


Innocent  YI.  had  lately  succeeded  Clement,  and  what¬ 
ever  his  own  claims  to  learning,*  he,  at  least,  appreciated 

•s; 

knowledge  and  intellect  in  others ;  so  that  the  graceful 
pedantry  of  the  time  continued  to  mix  itself  with  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure.  The  corruption  which  reigned 
through  the  whole  place  was  too  confirmed  to  yield  to 
the  example  of  Innocent,  himself  a  man  of  simple  habits 
and  exemplary  life.  Though,  like  his  predecessor,  obe¬ 
dient  to  the  policy  of  France,  Innocent  possessed  a  hard 
and  an  extended  ambition.  Deeply  concerned  for  the 
interests  of  the  Church,  he  formed  the  project  of  confirm¬ 
ing  and  re-establishing  her  shaken  dominion  in  Italy ; 
and  he  regarded  the  tyrants  of  the  various  states  as  the 
principal  obstacles  to  his  ecclesiastical  ambition.  Nor 
was  this  the  policy  of  Innocent  YI.  alone.  With  such 
exceptions  as  peculiar  circumstances  necessarily  occa¬ 
sioned,  the  Papal  See  was,  upon  the  whole,  friendly  to 
the  political  liberties  of  Italy.  The  Republics  of  the 
Middle  Ages  grew  up  under  the  shadow  of  the  Church ; 
and  there,  as  elsewhere,  it  was  found,  contrary  to  a  vulgar 
opinion,  that  Religion,  however  prostituted  and  perverted, 
served  for  the  general  protection  of  civil  freedom — raised 
the  lowly,  and  resisted  the  oppressor. 

At  this  period  there  appeared  at  Avignon  a  lady  of 
singular  and  matchless  beauty.  She  had  come  with  a 

- — - - - —T - - — - - - - - 

*  Matteo  Villani  (lib.  iii.  cap.  44)  says  that  Innocent  VI.  had 
not  much  pretension  to  learning.  He  is  reported,  however,  by  other 
authorities,  cited  by  Zefirino  Re,  to  have  been  “excellente  canon- 
ista.”  He  had  been  a  professor  in  the  University  of  Toulouse. 


128 


RIENZI, 


slender  but  well-appointed  retinue  from  Florence,  but 
declared  herself  of  Neapolitan  birth  ;  the  widow  of  a 
noble  of  the  brilliant  court  of  the  unfortunate  Jane.  Her 
name  was  Cesarini.  Arrived  at  a  place  where,  even  in 
the  citadel  of  Christianity,  Yenus  retained  her  ancient 
empire,  where  Love  made  the  prime  business  of  life,  and 
to  be  beautiful  was  to  be  of  power,  the  Signora  Cesarini 
had  scarcely  appeared  in  public  before  she  saw  at  her  feet 
half  the  rank  and  gallantry  of  Avignon.  Her  female 
attendants  were  beset  with  bribes  and  billets  :  and  nightly, 
beneath  her  lattice,  was  heard  the  plaintive  serenade. 
She  entered  largely  into  the  gay  dissipation  of  the  town, 
and  her  charms  shared  the  celebrity  of  the  hour  with  the 
verse  of  Petrarch.  But  though  she  frowned  on  none, 
none  could  claim  the  monopoly  of  her  smiles.  Her  fair 
fame  was  as  yet  unblemished ;  but  if  any  might  presume 
beyond  the  rest,  she  seemed  to  have  selected  rather  from 
ambition  than  love ;  and  Giles,  the  warlike  Cardinal 
d’Albornoz,  all-powerful  at  the  sacred  court,  already  fore¬ 
boded  the  h'our  of  his  triumph. 

It  was  late  noon,  and  in  the  ante-chamber  of  the  fair 
signora  waited  two  of  that  fraternity  of  pages,  fair  and 
richly  clad,  who,  at  that  day,  furnished  the  favorite 
attendants  to  rank  of  either  sex. 

“By  my  troth,”  cried  one  of  these  young  servitors, 
pushing  from  him  the  dice  with  which  himself  and  his 
companion  had  sought  to  beguile  their  leisure,  “  this  is 
but  dull  work  I  and  the  best  part  of  the  day  is  gone. 
Our  lady  is  late.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


129 


“And  I  have  donned  mj  new  velvet  mantle,”  replied 
the  other,  compassionately  eyeing  his  finery. 

“Chut,  Giacomo,”  said  his  comrade,  yawning;  “a 
truce  with  thy  cjDuceit  —  What  news  abroad,  I  wonder  ? 
Has  his  holiness  come  to  his  senses  yet  ?  ” 

“  His  senses  !  what,  is  he  mad  then  ?  ”  quoth  Giacomo, 
in  a  serious  and  astonished  whisper. 

“  I  think  he  is ;  if,  being  pope,  he  does  not  discover 
that  he  may  at  length  lay  aside  mask  and  hood.  ‘  Con¬ 
tinent  cardinal  —  lewd  pope,’  is  the  old  motto,  you  know  ; 
something  must  be  the  matter  with  the  good  man’s  brain 
if  he  continue  to  live  like  a  hermit.” 

“Oh,  I  have  you  I  but  faith,  his  holiness  has  proxies 
eno’.  The  bishops  ta^e  care  to  prevent  women.  Heaven 
bless  them  !  going  out  of*  fashion  ;  and  Albornoz  does  not 
maintain  your  proverb,  touching  the  cardinals.” 

“  True,  but  Giles  is  a  warrior,  —  a  cardinal  in  the 
church,  but  a  soldier  in  the  city.” 

“  Will  he  carry  the  fort  here,  think  you,  Angelo  ?  ” 

“Why,  fort  is  female,  but' - ” 

“  But  what  ?  ” 

“  The  signora’s  brow  is  made  for  power,  rather  than 
love,  fair  as  it  is.  She  sees  in  Albornoz  the  prince,  and 
not  the  lover.  With  what  a  step  she  sweeps  the  floor  ! 
it  disdains  even  the  cloth  of  gold  !  ” 

“  Hark !  ”  cried  Giacomo,  hastening  to  the  lattice, 
“  hear  you  the  hoofs  below  ?  Ah,  a  gallant  company  !  ” 
“  !^eturned  from  hawking,”  answered  Angelo,  regard¬ 
ing  wistfully  the  cavalcade,  as  it  swept  the  narrow  street. 

I 


130 


RIENZI, 


Plumes  waving,  steeds  curveting  —  see  how  yon  hand¬ 
some  cavalier  presses  close  to  that  dame  ?  ” 

“His  mantle  is  the  color  of  mine,”  sighed  Giacomo. 

As  the  gay  procession  paced  slowly  on,  till  hidden  by 
the  winding  streets,  and  as  the  sound  of  laughter  and  the 
tramp  of  horses  was  yet  faintly  heard,  there  frowned 
right  before  the  straining  gaze  of  the  pages,  a  dark 
massive  tower  of  the  mighty  masonry  of  the  eleventh 
century ;  the  sun  gleamed  sadly  on  its  vast  and  dismal 
surface,  which  was  only  here  and  there  relieved  by  loop¬ 
holes  and  narrow  slits,  rather  than  casements.  It  was  a 
striking  coijtrast  to  the  gaiety  around,  the  glittering 
shops,  and  the  gaudy  train  that  had  just  filled  the  space 
below.  This  contrast  the  young  men  seemed  involunta¬ 
rily  to  feel ;  they  drew  back  and  looked  at  each  other. 

“  I  know  your  thoughts,  Giacomo,”  said  Angelo,  the 
handsomer  and  elder  of  the  two.  “You  think  yon  tower 
affords  but  a  gloomy  lodgment?” 

“  And  I  thank  my  stars  that  made  me  not  high  enough 
to  require  so  grand  a  cage,”  rejoined  Giacomo. 

“Yet,”  observed  Angelo,  “it  holds  one,  who  in  birth 
was  not  our  superior.” 

“Do  tell  me  something  of  that  strange  man,”  said 
Giacomo,  regaining  his  seat;  “you  are  Roman,  and 
should  know.” 

“Yes  I  ”  answered  Angelo,  haughtily  drawing  himself 
up.  “I  am  Roman  !  and  I  should  be  unworthyjny  birth 
if  I  had  not  already  learned  what  honor  is  due  tp  the 
name  of  Cola  di  Rienzi.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


131 


“  Yet  your  fellow- Romans  nearly  stoned  him,  I  fancy, 
muttered  Giacomo.  “  Honor  seems  to  lie  more  in  kicks 
than  money.  Can  you  tell  me,”  continued  the  page  in  a 
louder  key,  “  can  you  tell  me  if  it  be  true,  that  Rienzi 
appeared  at  Prague  before  the  emperor,  and  prophesied 
that  the  late  pope  and  all  the  cardinals  should  be 
murdered,  and  a  new  Italian  pope  elected,  who  should 
endue  the  emperor  with  a  golden  crown,  as  Sovereign  of 
Sicilia,  Calabria,  and  Apulia,*  and  himself  with  a  crown 
of  silver,  as  King  of  Rome,  and  all  Italy  ?  And - ” 

“  Hush  !  ”  interrupted  Angelo,  impatiently.  Listen 
to  me,  and  you  shall  know  the  exact  story.  On  last 
leaving  Rome  (thou  knowest  that,  after  his  fall,  he  was 

present  at  the  Jubilee  in  disguise),  the  Tribune - ” 

here  Angelo,  pausing,  looked  round,  and  then  with  a 
flushed  cheek  and  raised  voice  resumed,  “Yes,  the  Tri~ 
hune,  that  was  and  shall  be  —  travelled  in  disguise,  as  a 
pilgrim,  over  mountain  and  forest,  night  and  day,  exposed 
to  rain  and  storm,  no  shelter  but  the  cave, — he  who  had 
been,  they  say,  the  very  spoilt  one  of  luxury.  Arrived 
at  length  in  Bohemia,  he  disclosed  himself  to  a  Floren¬ 
tine  in  Prague,  and  through  his  aid  obtained  audience 
of  the  Emperor  Charles.” 

“  A.  prudent  man,  the  emperor  I  ”  said  Giacomo,  “close- 
fisted  as  a  miser.  He  makes  conquests  by  bargain,  and 
goes  to  market  for  laurels, — as  I  have  heard  my  brother 
say,  who  was  under  him.” 

absurd  fable,  adopted  by  certaiu  historians. 


132 


RIENZI, 


“True;  but  I  have  also  heard  that  he  likes  bookmen 
and  scholars  —  is  wise  and  temperate,  and  much  is  yet 
hoped  from  him  in  Italy  !  Before  the  emperor,  I  say, 
came  Bienzi.  ^  Know,  great  prince,’  said  he,  ‘that  I  am 
that  Bienzi  to  whom  God  gave  to  govern  Borne,  in 
peace,  with  justice,  and  to  freedom.  I  curbed  the  nobles, 

I  purged  corruption,  I  amended  law.  The  powerful 
persecuted  me  —  pride  and  envy  have  chased  me  from 
my  dominions.  Great  as  you  are,  fallen  as  I  am,  I  too  ' 
have  wielded  the  sceptre  and  might  have  worn  a  crown. 
Know,  too,  that  I  am  illegitimately  of  your  lineage ;  my 
father  the  son  of  Henry  YII,  *,  the  blood  of  the  Teuton 
rolls  in  my  veins ;  mean  as  were  my  earlier  fortunes  and 
humble  my  earlier  name,  from  you,  0  king,  I  seek  pro¬ 
tection,  and  I  demand  justice. ’’f 

“A  bold  speech,  and  one  from  equal  to  equal,”  said 
Giacomo;  “surely  you  swell  us  out  the  words.” 

“Not  a  whit ;  they  were  written  down  by  the  emperor’s 
scribe,  and  every  Boman  who  has  once  heard  knows 
them  by  heart :  once  every  Boman  was  the  equal  to  a 
king,  and  Bienzi  maintained  our  dignity  in  asserting  his 
own.” 

Giacomo,  who  discreetly  avoided  quarrels,  knew  the  weak 
side  of  his  friend ;  and  though  in  his  heart  he  thought 
the  Bomans  as  good-for-nothing  a  set  of  turbulent  das¬ 
tards  as  all  Italy  might  furnish,  he  merely  picked  a  straw 

*  Uncle  to  the  Emperor  Charles.  * 

f  See,  for  this  speech,  the  anonymous  biographer, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


133 


from  his  mantle,  and  said,  in  rather  an  impatient  tone, 
“  Humph  !  proceed  ?  did  the  emperor  dismiss  him  ?  ” 
“Not  so  :  Charles  was  struck  with  his  bearing  and  his 
spirit,  received  him  graciously,  and  entertained  him  hos¬ 
pitably.  He  remained  some  time  at  Prague,  and  as¬ 
tonished  all  the  learned  with  his  knowledge  and  elo¬ 
quence.”  * 

“  But  if  so  honored  at  Pragne,  how  comes  he  a  prisoner 
at  Avignon  ?  ” 

“Giacomo?”  said  Angelo,  thoughtfully,  “there  are 
some  men  whom  we,  of  another  mind  and  mould,  can 
rarely  comprehend,  and  never  fathom.  And  of  such  men 
I  have  observed  that  a  supreme  confidence  in  their  own 
fortunes  or  their  own  souls,  is  the  most  common  feature. 
Thus  impressed,  and  thus  buoyed,  they  rush  into  danger 
with  a  seeming  madness,  and  from  danger  soar  to  great¬ 
ness,  or  sink  to  death.  So  with  Rienzi ;  dissatisfied  with 
empty  courtesies  and  weary  of  playing  the  pedant,  since 
once  he  had  played  the  prince; — some  say  of  his  own 
accord  (though  others  relate  that  he  was  surrendered  to 
the  pope’s  legate  by  Charles),  he  left  the  emperor’s  court, 
and  without  arms,  without  money,  betook  himself  at  once 
to  Avignon  I  ”  ^ 

“  Madness  indeed  !  ” 


*  His  Italian  contemporary  delights  in  representing  this  remark¬ 
able  man  as  another  Crichton.  “Disputava,”  he  says  of  him  when 
at  Prague,  “disputava  con  mastri  di  teologia ;  molto  diceva,  par- 
lava  coM|^fcravigliose.  .  .  .  abbair  fea  ogni  persona.” — “He  dis- 
puted^^^^^ksters  of  theology;  he  spoke  much,  he  discoursed 
thic^^^^P^-ful.  ...  he  astonished  every  one.” 


134 


RIENZI, 


“  Yet,  perhaps  his  only  course,  under  all  circumstances,” 
resumed  the  elder  page.  “  Once  before  his  fall,  and  once 
during  his  absence  from  Rome,  he  had  been  excommuni¬ 
cated  by  the  pope’s  legate.  He  was  accused  of  heresy 
—  the  ban  was  still  on  him.  It  was  necessary  that  he 
should  clear  himself.  How  was  the  poor  exile  to  do  so  ? 
No  powerful  friend  stood  up  for  the  friend  of  the  people. 
No  courtier  vindicated  one  who  had  trampled  on  the  neck 
of  the  nobles.  His  own  genius  was  his  only  friend  ;  on 
that  only  could  he  rely.  He  sought  Avignon,  to  free 
himself  from  the  accusations  against  him  ;  and,  doubtless, 
he  hoped  that  there  was  but  one  step  from  his  acquittal 
to  his  restoration.  Besides,  it  is  certain  that  the  emperor 
had  been  applied  to,  formally  to  surrender  Hienzi.  He 
had  the  choice  before  him  ;  for  to  that  sooner  or  later  it 
must  come — to  go  free,  or  to  go  in  bonds — as  a  criminal, 
or  as  a  Roman.  He  chose  the  latter.  Wherever  he 
passed  along,  the  people  rose  in  every  town,  in  every  ham¬ 
let.  The  name  of  the  great  Tribune  was  honored  through¬ 
out  all  Italy.  They  besought  him  not  to  rush  into  the 
very  den  of  peril  —  they  implored  him  to  save  himself  for 
that  country  which  he  had  sought  to  raise.  ‘I  go  to 
vindicate  myself,  and  to  triumph,’  was  the  Tribune’s  an¬ 
swer.  Solemn  honors  were  paid  him  in  the  cities  through 
which  he  passed  I  *  and  I  am  told  that  never  ambassador, 
prince,  or  baron,  entered  Avignon  with  so  long  a  train 


*  “Per  tutta  la  via  li  furo  fatti  solenni  onori,”  &c 
di  Runzii  lib.  ii.  cap.  xiii. 


'?  Col 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


135 


as  that  which  followed  into  these  very  walls,  the  steps  of 
Cola  di  Kienzi.’’ 

“  And  on  his  arrival  ?  ” 

“  He  demanded  an  audience,  that  he  might  refute  the 
charges  against  him.  He  flung  down  the  gage  to  the 
proud  cardinals  who  had  excommunicated  him.  He  be¬ 
sought  a  trial.” 

“  And  what  said  the  pope  ?  ” 

“  Nothing — by  word.  Yon  tower  was  his  answer  I  ” 

“ A  rough  one !  ” 

“But  there  have  been  longer  roads  than  that  from  the 
prison  to  the  palace,  and  God  made  not  men  like  Rienzi 
for  the  dungeon  and  the  chain.” 

As  Angelo  said  this  with  a  loud  voice,  and  with  all 
the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  fame  of  the  fallen  Tribune 
had  inspired  the  youth  of  Rome,  he  heard  a  sigh  behind 
him.  He  turned  in  some  confusion,  and  at  the  door 
which  admitted  to  the  chamber  occupied  by  the  Signora 
Cesarini,  stood  a  female  of  noble  presence.  Attired  in 
the  richest  garments,  gold  and  gems  were  dull  to  the 
lustre  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  as  she  now  stood,  erect  and 
commanding,  never  seemed  brow  more  made  for  the 
regal  crown  —  never  did  human  beauty  more  fully  con¬ 
summate  the  ideal  of  a  heroine  and  a  queen. 

“Pardon  me,  signora,”  said  Angelo,  hesitatingly;  “I 
spoke  loud,  I  disturbed  you  ;  but  1  am  a  Roman,  and  my 
theme  was - ” 

“  Bj^Ki  I  ”  said  the  lady,  approaching  ;  “  a  fit  one  to 
stiiniKbman  heart.  Nay,  no  excuses ;  they  would  sound 


136 


RIENZI, 


ill  on  thy  generous  lips.  Ah,  if — ”  the  signora  paused 
suddenly,  and  sighed  again  ;  then  in  an  altered  and  graver 
tone  she  resumed  —  “  if  fate  restore  Rienzi  to  his  proper 
fortunes,  he  shall  know  what  thou  deemest  of  him.” 

“  If  you,  lady,  who  are  of  l^aples,”  said  Angelo,  with 
meaning  emphasis,  “  speak  thus  of  a  fallen  exile,  what 
must  I  have  felt  who  acknowledged  a  sovereign  ?  ” 

“  Rienzi  is  not  of  Rome  alone  —  he  is  of  Italy — of  the 
world,”  returned  the  signora.  “And  you,  Angelo,  who 
have  had  the  boldness  to  speak  thus  of  one  fallen,  have 
proved  with  what  loyalty  you  can  serve  those  who  have 
the  fortune  to  own  you.” 

As  she  spoke,  the  signora  looked  at  the  page’s  down¬ 
cast  and  blushing  face  long  and  wistfully,  with  the  gaze 
of  one  accustomed  to  read  the  soul  in  the  countenance. 

“  Men  are  often  deceived,”  said  she,  sadly,  yet  with  a 
half-smile  ;  “but  women  rarely,  —  save  in  love.  Would 
that  Rome  were  filled  with  such  as  you  I  Enough  !  Hark  1 
Is  that  the  sound  of  hoofs  in  the  court  below  ?  ” 

“Madame,”  said  Giacomo,  bringing  his  mantle  gal¬ 
lantly  over  his  shoulder,  “  I  see  the  servitors  of  Monsig¬ 
nore  the  Cardinal  d’Albornoz.  It  is  the  cardinal  himself.” 

“  It  is  well,”  said  the  signora,  with  a  brightening  eye  ; 
“I  await  him  !”  With  these  words  she  withdrew  by  the 
door  through  which  she  had  surprised  the  Roman  page. 

% 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


137 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  character  of  a  warrior  priest,  —  An  interview.  —  The  intrigue 
and  counter-intrigue  of  courts. 

Giles  (or  Egidio*),  Cardinal  d’Albornoz,  was  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  men  of  that  remarkable  time,  so 
prodigal  of  genius.  Boasting  his  descent  from  the 
royal  houses  of  Aragon  and  Leon,  he  had  early  entered 
the  church,  and  yet  almost  a  youth,  attained  the  arch¬ 
bishopric  of  Toledo.  But  no  peaceful  career,  however 
brilliant,  sufficed  to  his  ambition.  He  could  not  content 
himself  with  the  honors  of  the  church,  unless  they  were 
the  honors  of  a  church  militant.  In  the  war  against  the 
Moors,  no  Spaniard  had  more  highly  distinguished  him¬ 
self  ;  and  Alphonso  XI.  King  of  Castile,  had  insisted  on 
receiving  from  the  hand  of  the  martial  priest  the  badge 
of  knighthood.  After  the  death  of  Alphonso,  who  was 
strongly  attached  to  him,  Albornoz  repaired  to  Avignon, 
and  obtained  from  Clement  YI.  the  cardinal’s  hat.  With 
Innocent  he  continued  in  high  favor,  and  now  constantly 
in  the  councils  of  the  pope,  rumors  of  warlike  preparation, 
under  the  banners  of  Albornoz,  for  the  recovery  of  the 

*  Egi^j^s  the  proper  Italian  equivalent  to  the  French  name 
Gilles ;  bufvhe  cardinal  is  generally  called,  by  the  writers  of  that 
day,  Gifio  d’Albornoz. 

12* 


138 


RIENZI, 


papal  dominions  from  the  various  tyrants  that  usurped 
them,  were  already  circulated  through  the  court.*  Bold, 
sagacious,  enterprising,  and  cold-hearted, — with  the  valor 
of  the  knight,  and  the  cunning  of  the  priest,  —  such  was 
the  character  of  Giles,  Cardinal  d’Albornoz. 

Leaving  his  attendant  gentlemen  in  the  ante-chamber, 
Albornoz  was  ushered  into  the  apartment  of  the  Signora 
Cesarini.  In  person,  the  cardinal  was  about  the  middle 
height ;  the  dark  complexion  of  Spain  had  faded  by 
thought,  and  the  wear  of  ambitious  schemes,  into  a  sallow 
but  hardy  hue ;  his  brow  was  deeply  furrowed,  and 
though  not  yet  passed  the  prime  of  life,  Albornoz  might 
seem  to  have  entered  age,  but  for  the  firmness  of  his  step, 
the  slender  elasticity  of  his  frame,  and  an  eye  which  had 
acquired  calmness  and  depth  from  thought,  without  losing 
any  of  the  brilliancy  of  youth. 

“Beautiful  signora,”  said  the  cardinal,  bending  over 
the  hand  of  the  Cesarini  with  a  grace  which  betokened 
more  of  the  prince  than  of  the  priest,  “the  commands  of 
his  holiness  have  detained  me,  I  fear,  beyond  the  hour 
in  which  you  vouchsafed  to  appoint  my  homage,  but  my 
heart  has  been  with  you  since  we  parted.” 

“  The  Cardinal  d’Albornoz,”  replied  the  signora,  gently 

*  It  is  a  characteristic  anecdote  of  this  bold  churchman,  that 
Urban  V.  one  day  demanded  an  account  of  the  sums  spent  in  his 
military  expedition  against  the  Italian  tyrants.  The  cardinal  pre¬ 
sented  to  the  pope  a  wagon,  filled  with  the  keys  of  the  cities  and 
fortresses  he  had  taken.  “This  is  my  account,”  said  he ;  “you 
perceive  how  I  have  invested  your  money.”  The  popeembraced 
him,  and  gave  him  no  further  trouble  about  his  accounts. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


139 


withdrawing  her  hand,  and  seating  herself,  “  has  so  many 
demands  on  his  time,  from  the  duties  of  his  rank  and  re¬ 
nown,  that  methinks  to  divert  his  attention  for  a  few  mo¬ 
ments  to  less  noble  thoughts,  is  a  kind  of  treason  to  his 
fame.’^ 

“Ah,  lady,”  replied  the  cardinal,  “never  was  my  am¬ 
bition  so  nobly  directed  as  it  is  now.  And  it  were  a 
prouder  lot  to  be  at  thy  feet  than  on  the  throne  of  St. 
Peter”. 

A  momentary  blush  passed  over  the  cheek  of  the 
signora,  yet  it  seemed  the  blush  of  indignation  as  much 
as  of  vanity ;  it  was  succeeded  by  an  extreme  paleness. 
She  paused  before  she  replied  ;  and  then  fixing  her  large 
and  haughty  eyes  on  the  enamoured  Spaniard,  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice  — 

“  My  lord  cardinal,  I  do  not  affect  to  misunderstand 
your  words ;  neither  do  I  place  them  to  the  account  of  a 
general  gallantry.  I  am  vain  enough  to  believe  you 
imagine  you  speak  truly  when  you  say  you  love  me.” 

“Imagine!”  echoed  the  Spaniard. 

“Listen  to  me,”  continued  the  signora.  “She  whom 
the  Cardinal  Albornoz  honors  with  his  love  has  a  right 
to  demand  of  him  its  proofs.  In  the  papal  court,  whose 
power  like  his  ?  —  I  require  you  to  exercise  it  for  me.” 

“  Speak,  dearest  lady;  have  your  estates  been  seized 
by  the  barbarians  of  these  lawless  times  ?  Hath  any 
dared  to  injure  you  ?  Lands  and  titles,  are  these  thy 
wish?  —  my  power  is  thy  slave.” 


140 


RIENZI, 

‘'Cardinal,  no  !  there  is  one  thing  dearer  to  an  Italian 
and  a  woman  than  wealth  or  station  —  it  is  revenge  !  ” 

The  cardinal  drew  back  from  the  flashing  eye  that  was 
bent  upon  him,  but  the  spirit  of  her  speech  touched  a 
congenial  chord. 

“  There,’’  said  he,  after  a  little  hesitation,  “there spake 
high  descent.  Revenge  is  the  luxury  of  the  well-born. 
Let  serfs  and  churls  forgive  an  injury.  Proceed,  lady.” 

“  Hast  thou  heard  the  last  news  from  Rome  ?  ”  asked 
the  signora. 

“  Surely,”  replied  the  cardinal,  in  some  surprise,  “  we 
were  poor  statesmen  to  be  ignorant  of  the  condition  of 
the  capital  of  the  papal  dominions  ;  and  my  heart  mourns 
for  that  unfortunate  city.  But  wherefore  wouldst  thou 
question  me  of  Rome  ?  —  thou  art - ” 

“  Roman  I  Know,  my  lord,  that  I  have  a  purpose  in 
calling  myself  of  Naples.  To  your  discretion  I  intrust 
my  secret  —  I  am  of  Rome  !  Tell  me  of  her  state.” 

“  Fairest  one,”  returned  the  cardinal,  “  I  should  have  ‘ 
known  that  that  brow  and  presence  were  not  of  the  light 
Campania.  My  reason  should  have  told  me  that  they 
bore  the  stamp  of  the  empress  of  the  world.  The  state 
of  Rome,”  continued  Albornoz,  in  a  graver  tone,  “is 
briefly  told.  Thou  knowest  that  after  the  fall  of  the  able 
but  insolent  Rienzi,  Pepin  Count  of  Minorbino,  (a 
creature  of  Montreal’s),  who  had  assisted  in  expelling 
him,  would  have  betrayed  Rome  to  Montreal,  —  but  he 
was  neither  strong  enough,  nor  wise  enough,  and  the 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


141 


barons  chased  him  as  he  had  chased  the  Tribune.  Some 
time  afterwards  a  new  demagogue,  John  Cerroni,  was 
installed  in  the  Capitol.  He  once  more  expelled  the 
nobles  ;  new  revolutions  ensued — the  barons  were  recalled. 
The  weak  successor  of  Rienzi  summoned  the  people  to 
arms  —  in  vain  :  in  terror  and  despair  he  abdicated  his 
power,  and  left  the  city  a  prey  to  the  interminable  feuds 
of  the  Orsini,  the  Colonna,  and  the  Savelli.” 

“  Thus  much  I  know,  my  lord :  but  when  his  holiness 
succeeded  to  the  chair  of  Clement  YL - ’’ 

“  Then,”  said  Albornoz,  and  a  slight  frown  darkened 
his  sallow  brow,  “then  came  the  blacker  part  of  the 
history.  Two  senators  were  elected  in  concert  by  the 
pope.” 

“  Their  names  ?  ” 

“Bertoldo  Orsini,  and  one  of  the  Colonna.  A  few 
weeks  afterwards  the  high  price  of  provisions  stung  the 
rascal  stomachs  of  the  mob  —  they  rose,  they  clamored, 
they  armed,  they  besieged  the  Capitol - ” 

“Well,  well,”  cried  the  signora,  clasping  her  hands, 
and  betokening  in  every  feature  her  interest  in  the  nar¬ 
ration. 

“  Colonna  only  escaped  death  by  a  vile  disguise  ;  Ber¬ 
toldo  Orsini  was  stoned.” 

“Stoned!  —  there  fell  one!” 

“Yes,  lady,  one  of  a  great  house;  the  least  drop  of 
whose  blood  were  worth  an  ocean  of  plebeian  puddle. 
At  present,  all  is  disorder,  misrule,  anarchy,  at  Rome. 
The  contests  of  the  nobles  shake  the  city  to  the  centre  ; 


142 


RIEN  ZI, 


•• 


and  prince  and  people,  wearied  of  so  many  experiments 
to  establish  a  government,  have  now  no  governor  but  the 
fear  of  the  sword.  Such,  fair  madam,  is  the  state  of 
Rome.  Sigh  not,  it  occupies  now  our  care.  It  shall  be 
remedied  ;  and  I,  madam,  may  be  the  happy  instrument 
of  restoring  peace  to  your  native  city.” 

“  There  is  but  one  way  of  restoring  peace  to  Rome,” 
answered  the  signora,  abruptly,  “and  that  is  —  The 
restoration  of  Rienzi  I  ” 

The  cardinal  started.  “Madam,”  said  he,  “do  I  hear 
aright  ?  —  are  you  not  nobly  born  ?  —  can  you  desire  the 
rise  of  a  plebeian  ?  Did  you  not  speak  of  revenge,  and 
now  you  ask  for  mercy?” 

“  Lord  cardinal,”  said  the  beautiful  signora,  earnestly, 
“  I  do  not  ask  for  mercy  :  such  a  word  is  not  for  the  lips 
of  one  who  demands  justice.  Nobly  born  I  am  —  ay, 
and  from  a  stock  to  whose  long  descent  from  the  patri¬ 
cians  of  ancient  Rome  the  high  line  of  Aragon  itself 
would  be  of  yesterday.  Nay,  I  would  not  offend  you, 
monsignore  ;  your  greatness  is  not  borrowed  from  pedi¬ 
grees  and  tomb-stones  —  your  greatness  is  your  own 
achieving  :  would  you  speak  honestly,  ray  lord,  you  would 
own  that  you  are  proud  only  of  your  own  laurels,  and 
that,  in  your  heart,  you  laugh  at  the  stately  fools  who 
trick  themselves  out  in  the  mouldering  finery  of  the  dead  !  ” 

“  Muse  !  prophetess  !  you  speak  aright,”  said  the  high- 
spirited  cardinal,  with  unwonted  energy ;  “  and  your  voice 
is  like  that  of  the  Fame  I  dreamed  of  in  my  youth. 
Speak  on,  speak  ever !  ” 


143 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 

‘‘Such,”  continued  the  signora,  “such  as  your  pride, 
is  the  just  pride  of  Rienzi.  Proud  that  he  is  the  work¬ 
man  of  his  own  great  renown.  In  such  as  the  Tribune 
of  Rome  we  acknowledge  the  founders  of  noble  lineage. 
Ancestry  makes  not  them — they  make  ancestry.  Enough 
of  this.  I  am  of  noble  race,  it  is  true  ;  but  my  house, 
and  those  of  many,  have  been  crushed  and  broken  beneath 
the  yoke  of  the  Orsini  and  Colonna  —  it  is  against  them 
I  desire  revenge.  But  I  am  better  than  an  Italian  lady 
—  I  am  a  Roman  woman  —  I  weep  tears  of  blood  for  the 
disorders  of  my  unhappy  country.  I  mourn  that  even 
you,  my  lord  —  yes,  that  a  barbarian,  however  eminent 
and  however  great,  should  mourn  for  Rome.  I  desire  to 
restore  her  fortunes.” 

“But  Rienzi  would  only  restore  his  own.” 

“Not  so,  my  lord  cardinal;  not  so.  Ambitious  and 
proud  he  may  be  —  great  souls  are  so  —  but  he  has  never 
had  one  wish  divorced  from  the  welfare  of  Rome.  But 
put  aside  all  thought  of  his  interests — it  is  not  of  these  I 
speak.  You  desire  to  re-establish  the’  papal  power  in 
Rome.  Your  senators  have  failed  to  do  it.  Demagogues 
fail  —  Rienzi  alone  can  succeed  ;  he  alone  can  command 
the  turbulent  passions  of  the  barons  —  he  alone  can  sway 
the  capricious  and  fickle  mob.  Release,  restore  Rienzi, 
and  through  Rienzi  the  pope  regains  Rome  1  ” 

The  cardinal  did  not  answer  for  some  moments.  Buried 
as  in  a  reverie,  he  sat  motionless,  shading  his  face  with 
his  hand.  Perhaps  he  secretly  owned  there  was  a  wiser 
policy  in  the  suggestions  of  the  signora  than  he  cared 


144 


RIENZI, 

openly  to  confess.  Lifting  his  head,  at  length,  from  his 
bosom,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  signora’s  watchful 
countenance,  and,  with  a  forced  smile,  said  — 

“  Pardon  me,  madam  ;  but  while  we  play  the  politi¬ 
cians,  forget  not  that  I  am  thy  adorer.  Sagacious  may 
be  thy  counsels,  yet  wherefore  are  they  urged  ?  Why  this 
anxious  interest  for  Rienzi  ?  If  by  releasing  him  the 
Church  may  gain  an  ally,  am  I  sure  that  Giles  d’Albornoz 
will  not  raise  a  rival  ?  ” 

“My  lord,”  said  the  signora,  half  rising,  “you  are  my 
suitor;  but  your  rank  does  not  tempt  me  —  your  gold 
cannot  buy.  If  you  love  me,  I  have  a  right  to  command 
your  services  to  whatsoever  task  I  would  require  —  it  is 
the  law  of  chivalry.  If  ever  I  yield  to  the  addresses  of 
mortal  lover,  it  will  be  to  the  man  who  restores  to  my 
native  land  her  hero  and  her  savior.” 

“Pair  patriot,”  said  the  cardinal,  “your  words  encour¬ 
age  my  hope,  yet  they  half  damp  my  ambition  ;  for  fain 
would  I  desire  that  love  and  not  service  should  alone  give 
me  the  treasure  that  I  ask.  But  hear  me,  sweet  lady ; 
you  over-rate  my  power:  I  cannot  deliver  Rienzi — he  is 
accused  of  rebellion,  he  is  excommunicated  for  heresy. 
His  acquittal  rests  with  himself.” 

“You  can  procure  his  trial?” 

“Perhaps,  lady.” 

“  That  is  his  acquittal.  And  a  private  audience  of  his 
holiness  ?  ” 

“  Doubtless.” 

“  That  is  his  restoration  !  Behold  all  I  ask  !  ” 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


145 


“And  then,  sweet  Roman,  it  will  be  mine  to  ask,” 
said  the  cardinal,  passionately,  dropping  on  his  knee, 
and  taking  the  signora’s  hand.  For  one  moment,  that 
proud  lady  felt  that  she  was  woman  —  she  blushed,  she 
trembled  ;  but  it  was  not  (could  the  cardinal  have  read 
that  heart)  with  passion  or  with  weakness  ;  it  was  with 

terror  and  with  shame.  Passively  she  surrendered  her 

«/ 

hand  to  the  cardinal,  who  covered  it  with  kisses. 

“Thus  inspired,”  said  Albornoz,  rising,  “  I  will  not 
doubt  of  success.  To-morrow  I  wait  on  thee  again.” 

He  pressed  her  hand  to  his  heart — the  lady  felt  it  not. 
He  sighed  his  farewell  —  she  did  not  hear  it.  Linger¬ 
ingly  he  gazed  ;  and  slowly  he  departed.  But  it  was 
some  moments  before,  recalled  to  herself,  the  signora  felt 
that  she  was  alone. 

“Alone  I  ”  she  cried,  half  aloud,  and  witn  wild  empha¬ 
sis —  “alone  !  Oh,  what  have  I  undergone — what  have 
I  said  I  Unfaithful,  even  in  thought,  to  him!  Oh,  never  I 
never  I  I,  that  have  felt  the  kiss  of  his  hallowing  lips  — 
that  have  slept  on  his  kingly  heart ! — I ! — holy  Mother, 
befriend  and  strengthen  me  !  ”  she  continued,  as,  weeping 
bitterly,  she  sank  upon  her  knees  ;  and  for  some  moments 
she  was  lost  in  prayer.  Then,  rising  composed,  but 
deadly  pale,  and  with  the  tears  rolling  heavily  down  her 
cheeks,  the  signora  passed  slowly  to  the  casement;  she 
threw  it  open,  and  bent  forward  ;  the  air  of  the  declin¬ 
ing  day  came  softly  on  her  temples ;  it  cooled,  it  miti¬ 
gated,  the  fever  that  preyed  within.  Dark  and  huge 
before  her  frowned,  in  its  gloomy  shadow,  the  tower  in 

II.  — 13 


K 


146 


R  I  E  N  Z  I , 


which  Rienzi  was  confined ;  she  gazed  at  it  long  and 
wistfully,  and  then,  turning  away,  drew  from  the  folds  of 
her  robe  a  small  and  sharp  dagger.  Let  me  save  him 
for  glory  !  ”  she  murmured  ;  “  and  this  shall  save  me 
from  dishonor  I  ’’ 


CHAPTER  III. 

Holy  men. — Sagacious  deliberations. — Just  resolves. — And  sordid 

motives  to  all. 

Enamoured  of  the  beauty,  and  almost  equally  so  of 
the  lofty  spirit,  of  the  Signora  Cesarini,  as  was  the  war¬ 
like  cardinal  of  Spain,  love  with  him  was  not  so  master 
a  passion  as  that  ambition  of  complete  success  in  all  the 
active  designs  of  life,  which  had  hitherto  animated  his 
character  and  signalized  his  career.  Musing,  as  he  left 
the  signora,  on  her  wish  for  the  restoration  of  the  Roman 
Tribune,  his  experienced  and  profound  intellect  ran  swiftly 

through  whatever  advantages  to  his  own  political  designs 

* 

might  result  from  that  restoration.  We  have  seen  that 
it  was  the  intention  of  the  new  pontiff  to  attempt  the 
recovery  of  the  patrimonial  territories,  now  torn  from 
him  by  the  gripe  of  able  and  disaffected  tyrants.  With 
this  view,  a  military  force  was  already  in  preparation, 
and  the  cardinal  was  already  secretly  nominated  the 
chief.  But  the  force  was  very  inadequate  to  the  enter¬ 
prise  ;  and  Albornoz  depended  much  upon  the  moral 
strength  of  the  cause  in  bringing  recruits  to  his  standard 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


14t 


in  his  progress  through  the  Italian  states.  The  wonder¬ 
ful  rise  of  Rienzi  had  excited  an  extraordinary  enthu- 

M 

siasm  in  his  favor  through  all  the  free  populations  of 
Italy.  And  this  had  been  yet  more  kindled  and  inflamed 
by  the  influential  eloquence  of  Petrarch,  who,  at  that 
time,  possessed  of  a  power  greater  than  ever,  before  or 
since  (not  even  excepting  the  sage  of  Ferney),  wielded 
by  a  single  literary  man,  had  put  forth  his  boldest  genius 
in  behalf  of  the  Roman  Tribune.  Such  a  companion  as 
Rienzi  in  the  camp  of  the  cardinal  might  be  a  magnet 
of  attraction  to  the  youth  and  enterprise  of  Italy.  On 
nearing  Rome,  he  might  himself  judge  how  far  it  would 
be  advisable  to  reinstate  Rienzi  as  a  delegate  of  the 
papal  power.  And,  in  the  mean  while,  the  Roman’s 
influence  might  be  serviceable,  whether  to  awe  the  rebel¬ 
lious  nobles  or  conciliate  the  stubborn  people.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  cardinal  was  shrewd  enough  to  perceive 
that  no  possible  good  could  arise  from  Rienzi’s  present 
confinement.  With  every  month  it  excited  deeper  and 
more  universal  sympathy.  To  his  lonely  dungeon  turned 
half  the  hearts  of  republican  Italy.  Literature  had 
leagued  its  new  and  sudden,  and  therefore  mighty  and 
even  disproportioned  power  with  his  cause ;  and  the 
pope,  without  daring  to  be  his  judge,  incurred  the  odium 
of  being  his  gaoler.  “A  popular  prisoner,”  said' the 
sagacious  cardinal  to  himself,  “is  the  most  dangerous  of 
guests.  Restore  him  as  your  servant,  or  destroy  him  as 
your  foe  !  In  this  case  I  see  no  alternative  but  acquittal 
or  the  knife  !  ”  In  these  reflections  that  able  plotter, 


deep  in  the  Machiavelism  of  the  age,  divorced  the  lover 
from  the  statesman. 

Recurring  now  to  the  former  character,  he  felt  some 
disagreeable  and  uneasy  forebodings  at  the  earnest 
interest  of  his  mistress.  Fain  would  he  have  attributed, 
either  to  some  fantasy  of  patriotism  or  some  purpose  of 
revenge,  the  anxiety  of  the  Cesarini ;  and  there  was 
much  in  her  stern  and  haughty  character  which  favored 
that  belief.  But  he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  to  him¬ 
self  some  jealous  apprehension  of  a  sinister  and  latent 
motive,  which  touched  his  vanity  and  alarmed  his  love. 
“Howbeit,”  he  thought,  as  he  turned  from  his  unwilling 
fear,  “  I  can  play  with  her  at  her  own  weapons  ;  I  can 
obtain  the  release  of  Rienzi,  and  claim  my  reward.  If 
denied,  the  hand  that  opened  the  dungeon  can  again 
rivet  the  chain.  In  her  anxiety  is  my  power  I 

These  thoughts  the  cardinal  was  still  revolving  in  his 
palace,  when  he  was  suddenly  summoned  to  attend  the 
pontiff. 

The  pontifecal  palace  no  longer  exhibited  the  gorgeous 
yet  graceful  luxury  *of  Clement  YL,  and  the  sarcastic 
cardinal  smiled  to  himself  at  the  quiet  gloom  of  the 
ante-chambers.  “He  thinks  to  set  an  example  —  this 
poor  native  of  Limoges  I”  thought  Albornoz  ;  “and  has 
but  the  mortification  of  finding  himself  eclipsed  by  the 
poorest  bishop.  He  humbles  himself,  and  fancies  that 
the  humility  will  be  contagious.’^ 

His  holiness  was  seated  before  a  small  rude  table  be- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


149 


strewed  with  papers,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands  ;  the 
room  was  simply  furnished,  and  in  a  small  niche  beside 
the  casement  was  an  ivory  crucifix ;  below,  the  death’s 
head  and  cross-bones,  which  most  monks  then  introduced 
with  a  purpose  similar  to  that  of  the  ancients  by  the  like 
ornaments,  —  mementos  of  the  shortness  of  life,  and 
therefore  admonitions  to  make  the  best  of  it !  On  the 
ground  lay  a  map  of  the  patrimonial  territory,  with  the 
fortresses  in  especial,  distinctly  and  prominently  marked. 
The  pope  gently  lifted  up  his  head  as  the  cardinal  was 
announced,  and  discovered  a  plain  but  sensible  and  some¬ 
what  interesting  countenance.  “  My  son  !  ”  said  he,  with 
a  kindly  courtesy  to  the  lowly  salutation  of  the  proud 
Spaniard,  “scarcely  wouldst  thou  imagine,  after  our 
long  conference  this  morning,  that  new  cares  would  so 
soon  demand  the  assistance  of  thy  counsels.  Yerily,  the 
wreath  of  thorns  stings  sharp  under  the  triple  crown ; 
and  I  sometimes  long  for  the  quiet  abode  of  my  old 
professor’s  chair  in  Toulouse.  My  station  is  of  pain 
and  toil.” 

“  God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lanfb,”  observed 
the  cardinal,  with  pious  and  compassionate  gravity. 

Innocent  could  scarcely  refrain  a  smile  as  he  replied, 
“  The  lamb  that  carries  the  cross  must  have  the  strength 
of  the  lion.  Since  we  parted,  my  son,  I  have  had  painful 
intelligence  ;  our  couriers  have  arrived  from  the  Cam- 
pagna  —  the  heathen  rage  furiously  —  the  force  of  John 
di  Yico  has  augmented  fearfully,  and  the  most  redoubted 
adventurer  of  Europe  has  enlisted  under  his  banner.” 

13* 


150 


RIENZI, 


‘‘  Does  liis  holiness,”  cried  the  cardinal,  anxiously, 
•‘speak  of  Fra  Moreale,  the  Knight  of  St.John?” 

“Of  no  less  a  warrior,”  returned  the  pontiff.  “I 
dread  the  vast  ambition  of  that  wild  adventurer.” 

“  Your  holiness  hath  cause,”  said  the  cardinal,  drily. 

“  Some  letters  of  his  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
servants  of  the  Church;  they  are  here:  read  them,  my 
son.” 

Albornoz  received  and  deliberately  scanned  the  letters  ; 
this  done,  he  replaced  them  on  the  table,  and  remained 
for  a  few  moments  silent  and  absorbed. 

“What  think  you,  my  son  ?”  said  the  pope,  at  length, 
with  an  impatient  and  even  peevish  tone. 

“I  think  that,  with  Montreal’s  hot  genius  and  John 
di  Yico’s  frigid  villany,  your  holiness  may,  live  to  envy, 
if  not  the  quiet,  at  least  the  revenue,  of  the  professor’s 
chair.” 

“  How,  cardinal !  ”  said  the  pope,  hastily,  and  with  an 
angry  flush  on  his  pale  brow.  The  cardinal  quietly  pro¬ 
ceeded. 

“By  these  letters  it  seems  that  Montreal  has  written 
to  all  the  commanders  of  free  lances  throughout  Italy, 
offering  the  highest  pay  of  a  soldier  to  every  man  who 
will  join  his  standard,  combined  with  the  richest  plunder 
of  a  brigand.  He  meditates  great  schemes,  then  I  —  I 
know  the  man  I  ” 

“  Well,  —  and  our  course  ?  ” 

“Is  plain,”  said  the  cardinal,  loftily,  and  with  an  eye 
that  flashed  with  a  soldier’s  fire.  “Not  a  moment  is  to 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


151 


be  lost !  Thy  son  should  at  once  take  the  field.  Up 
with  the  Banner  of  the  Church  1  ”  '  - 

“But  are  we  strong  enough?  our  numbers  are  few. 
Zeal  slackens  !  the  piety  of  the  Baldwins  is  no  more  !  ” 

“  Your  holiness  knows  well/’  said  the  cardinal,  “that 
for  the  multitude  of  men  there  are  two  watchwords  of 
war  —  Liberty  and  Religion.  If  religion  begins  to  fail, 
we  must  employ  the  profaner  word.  '  Up  with  the 
Banner  of  the  Church  —  and  down  with  the  tyrants  !  ’ 
We  will  proclaim  equal  laws  and  free  government;* 
and,  God  willing,  our  camp  shall  prosper  better  with 
those  promises  than  the  tents  of  Montreal  with  the  more 
vulgar  shout  of  ‘Pay  and  Rapine.’” 

“  Giles  d’Albornoz,”  said  the  pope,  emphatically  ;  and, 
warmed  by  the  spirit  of  the  cardinal,  he  dropped  the 
wonted  etiquette  of  phrase,  “I  trust  implicitly  to  you. 
Now  the  right  hand  of  the  Church  —  hereafter,  perhaps, 
its  head.  Too  well  I  feel  that  the  lot  has  fallen  on  a 
lowly  place.  My  successor  must  requite  my  deficiencies.” 

No  changing  hue,  no  brightening  glance,  betrayed  to 
the  searching  eye  of  the  pope  whatever  emotion  these 
words  had  called  up  in  the  breast  of  the  ambitious 
cardinal.  He  bowed  his  proud  head  humbly  as  he 
answered,  “Pray  Heaven  that  Innocent  YI.  may  long 
live  to  guide  the  Church  to  glory.  For  Giles  d’Albor- 


*  In  correcting  the  pages  of  this  work,  in  the  year  1847,... 
strange  coincidences  between  the  present  policy  of  the  Roman 
Church  and  that  by  which  in  the  14th  century  it  recovered  both 
spiritual  and  temporal  power,  cannot  fail  to  suggest  themselves. 


152 


RIE  N  ZI, 


noz,  less  priest  than  soldier,  the  din  of  the  camp,  the 
breath  of  the  war-steed,  suggest  the  only  aspirations 
which  he  ever  dares  indulge.  But  has  your  holiness  im¬ 
parted  to  your  servant  all  that - ’’ 

“Nay,”  interrupted  Innocent,  “  I  have  yet  intelligence 
equally  ominous.  This  John  di  Yico,  —  pest  go  with 
him !  —  who  still  styles  himself  (the  excommunicated 
rufi&an  !)  Prefect  of  Rome,  has  so  filled  that  unhappy  city 
with  his  emissaries,  that  we  have  well-nigh  lost  the  seat 
of  the  apostle.  Rome,  long  in  anarchy,  seems  now  in 
open  rebellion.  The  nobles — sons  of  Belial !  —  it  is  true, 
are  once  more  humbled;  but  how  ? — One  Baroncelli,  a 
new  demagogue,  the  fiercest  —  the  most  bloody  that  the 
fiend  ever  helped  —  has  arisen  —  is  invested  by  the  mob 
with  power,  and  uses  it  to  butcher  the  people  and  insult 
the  pontiff.  Wearied  of  the  crimes  of  this  man  (which 
are  not  even  decorated  by  ability),  the  shout  of  the 
people  day  and  night  along  the  streets  is  for  ‘  Rienzi  the 
Tribune.’” 

“  Ha  I  ”  said  the  cardinal,  “  Rienzi’s  faults  then  are 
forgotten  in  Rome,  and  there  is  felt  for  him  the  same 
enthusiasm  in  that  city  as  in  the  rest  of  Italy  ?  ” 

“  Alas  I  it  is  so.” 

“  It  is  well,  I  have  thought  of  this  :  Rienzi  can  accom¬ 
pany  my  progress  - - ” 

“  My  son  !  the  rebel,  the  heretic - ” 

“  By  your  holiness’s  absolution  will  become  quiet  sub¬ 
ject  and  orthodox  Catholic,”  said  Albornoz.  “  Men  are 
good  or  bad  as  they  suit  our  purpose.  What  matters  a 


THE  LAST  OF  TUB  TRIBUNES.;  |  153 

virtue  that  is  useless,  or  a  crime  that  is  useful,  tb  us  ? 
The  army  of  the  Church  proceeds  against  tyrants  —  it 
proclaims  everywhere  to  the  papal  towns  the  restoration 
of  their  popular  constitutions.  Sees  not  your  holiness 
that  the  acquittal  of  Rienzi,  the  popular  darling,  will  be 
hailed  an  earnest  of  your  sincerity  ? — sees  not  your  holi¬ 
ness  that  his  name  will  fight  for  us  ? — sees  not  your  holi¬ 
ness  that  the  great  demagogue  Rienzi  must  be  used  to 
extinguish  the  little  demagogue  Baroncelli  ?  We  must 
regain  the  Romans,  whether  of  the  city  or  whether  in 
the  seven  towns  of  John  di  Yico.  When  they  hear 
Rienzi  is  in  our  camp,  trust  me,  we  shall  have  a  multi¬ 
tude  of  deserters  from  the  tyrants  —  trust  me,  we  shall 
hear  no  more  of  Baroncelli.” 

“Ever  sagacious,”  said  the  pope,  musingly;  “it  is 
true,  we  can  use  this  man  ;  but  with  caution.  His  genius 
is  formidable - ” 

“And  therefore  must  be  conciliated  ;  if  we  acquit,  we 
must  make  him  ours.  My  experience  has  taught  me  this, 
when  you  cannot  slay  a  demagogue  by  law,  crush  him 
with  honors.  He  must  be  no  longer  Tribune  of  the 
people.  Give  him  the  patrician  title  of  Senator,  and  he 
is  then  the  lieutenant  of  the  pope  !  ” 

“  I  will  see  to  this,  my  son — your  suggestions  please, 
but  alarm  me  :  he  shall  at  least  be  examined  ;  — but  if 
found  a  heretic - ” 

“  Should,  I  humbly  advise,  be  declared  a  saint.” 

The  pope  bent  his  brow  for  a  moment,  but  the  effort 


RIENZI, 

was  too  mucli  for  him,  and  after  a  moment’s  struggle,  he 
fairly  laughed  aloud. 

“Go  to,  my  son,”  said  he,  affectionately  patting  the 
cardinal’s  sallow  cheek.  “Go  to.  —  If  the  world  heard 
thee,  what  would  it  say  ?  ” 

“  That  Giles  d’Albornoz  had  just  enough  religion  to 
remember  that  the  State  is  a  Church,  but  not  too  much 
to  forget  that  the  Church  is  a  State.” 

With  these  words  the  conference  ended.  That  very 
evening  the  pope  decreed  that  Rienzi  should  be  permitted 
the  trial  he  had  demanded. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Lady  and  the  Page. 

It  wanted  three  hours  of  midnight,  when  Albornoz, 
resuming  his  character  of  gallant,  despatched  to  the 
Signora  Cesarini  the  following  billet ; 

“Your  commands  are  obeyed.  Rienzi  will  receive  an 
examination  on  his  faith.  It  is  well  that  he  should  be 
prepared.  It  may  suit  your  purpose,  as  to  which  I  am 
so  faintly  enlightened,  to  appear  to  the  prisoner  what 
you  are — the  obtainer  of  this  grace.  See  how  implicitly 
one  noble  heart  can  trust  another  !  I  send  by  the  bearer 
an  order  that  will  admit  one  of  your  servitors  to  the 
prisoner’s  cell.  Be  it,  if  you  will,  your  task  to  announce 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  155 

to  him  the  new  cHsis  of  his  fate.  Ah  !  madam,  may;  for¬ 
tune  be  as  favorable  to  me,  and  grant  me  the  same  inter¬ 
cessor —  from  thy  lips  my  sentence  is  to  come.” 

As  Albornoz  finished  this  epistle,  he  summoned  his 
confidential  attendant,  a  Spanish  gentleman,  who  saw 
nothing  in  his  noble  birth  that  should  prevent  his  fulfill¬ 
ing  the  various  bests  of  the  cardinal. 

“Alvarez,”  said  he,  “these  to  the  Signora  Cesarini  by 
another  hand ;  thou  art  unknown  to  her  household. 
Repair  to  the  state  tower ;  this  to  the  governor  admits 
thee.  Mark  who  is  admitted  to  the  prisoner  Cola  di 
Rienzi :  know  his  name,  examine  whence  he  comes.  Be 
keen,  Alvarez.  Learn  by  what  motive  the  Cesarini 
interests  herself  in  the  prisoner’s  fate.  All  too,  of  her¬ 
self,  birth,  fortunes,  lineage,  would  be  welcome  intelli¬ 
gence.  Thou  comprehendest  me  ?  It  is  well.  One 
caution — thou  hast  no  mission  from,  no  connection  with, 
me.  Thou  art  an  officer  of  the  prison,  or  of  the  pope — • 
what  thou  wilt.  Give  me  the  rosary ;  light  the  lamp 
before  the  crucifix ;  place  yon  hair-shirt  beneath  those 
arms.  I  would  have  it  appear  as  if  meant  to  be  hidden  I 
Tell  Gomez  that  the  Dominican  preacher  is  to  be  ad¬ 
mitted.” 

“  Those  friars  have  zeal,”  continued  the  cardinal  to 
himself,  as,  after  executing  his  orders,  Alvarez  withdrew. 
“  They  would  burn  a  man — but  only  on  the  Bible  I  They 
are  worth  conciliating,  if  the  triple  crown  be  really  worth 
the  winning ;  were  it  mine,  I  would  add  the  eagle’s 
plume  to  it.” 


156 


K  vii#n:ur 

And  ^plunged  into  the  aspiring,  future,  this  bold  man 
forgot  even  the  object  of  his  passion.  In  real  life,  after 
a  certain  age,  ambitious  men  love,  indeed  ;  but  it  is  only 
as  an  interlude.  And  indeed  with  most  men,  life  has 
more  absorbing  though  not  more  frequent  concerns  than 
those  of  love.  Love  is  the  business  of  the  idle,  but  the 
idleness  of  the  busy. 

The  Cesarini  was  alone  when  the  cardinal’s  messenger 
arrived,  and  he  was  scarcely  dismissed  with  a  few  lines, 
expressive  of  a  gratitude  which  seemed  to  bear  down  all 
those  guards  with  which  the  coldness  of  the  signora 
usually  fenced  her  pride,  before  the -page  Angelo  was 
summoned  to  her  presence. 

The  room  was  dark  with  the  shades  of  the  gathering 
night  when  the  youth  entered,  and  he  discerned  but  dimly 
the  outline  of  the  signora’s  stately  form  ;  but  by  the  tone 
of  her  voice,  he  perceived  that  she  was  deeply  agitated. 

“Angelo,”  said  she,  as  he  approached,  “Angelo  — ” 
and  her  voice  failed  her.  She  paused  as  for  breath,  and 
again  proceeded.  “You  alone  have  served  us  faithfully ; 
you  alone  shared  our  escape,  our  wanderings,  our  exile 
— you  alone  know  my  secret — you  of  my  train  alone  are 
Roman  !  — Roman  !  it  was  once  a  great  name,  Angelo, 
the  name  has  fallen  ;  but  it  is  only  because  the  nature 
of  the  Roman  race  fell  first.  Haughty  they  are,  but 
fickle  ;  fierce,  but  dastard  :  vehement  in  promise,  but 
rotten  in  their  faith.  Yon  are  a  Roman,  and  though  I 
have  proved  your  truth,  your  very  birth  makes  me  afraid 
of  falsehood.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNEiS.  15t 

“Madam,”  said  the  page,  “I  was  but  a  child  when 
you  admitted  me  of  your  service,  and  I  ain  yet  only  on 
the  verge  of  manhood.  But  boy  though  I  yet  be,  I  would 
brave  the  stoutest  lance  of  knight  or  freebooter  in  defence 
of  the  faith  of  Angelo  Yillani  to  his  liege  lady  and  his 
native  land.” 

“Alas!  alas!”  said  the  signora,  bitterly,  “such  have 
been  the  words  of  thousands  of  thy  race.  What  have 
been  their  deeds  ?  But  I  will  trust  thee,  as  I  have  trusted 
ever.  I  know  that  thou  art  covetous  of  honor,  that  thou 
hast  youth’s  comely  and  bright  ambition.” 

“  I  am  an  orphan  and  a  bastard,”  said  Angelo,  bluntly. 
“And  circumstance  stings  me  sharply  on  to  action;  I 
would  win  my  own  name.” 

“Thou  shalt,”  said  the  signora.  “We  shall  live  yet 
to  reward  thee.  And  now  be  quick.  Bring  hither  one 
of  thy  page’s  suits,  —  mantle  and  head-gear.  Quick,  I 
say,  and  whisper  not  to  a  soul  what  I  have  asked  of 
thee.” 


II.— U 


j  )168 
1 


yj  I  t  •  ,,,.RIENZI, 

y  4  N  M  f  ' 


1 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Inmate  of  the  Tower. 

The  night  slowly  advanced,  and  in  the  highest  chamber 
of  that  dark  and  rugged  tower  which  fronted  the  windows 
of  the  Cesarini’s  palace  sat  a  solitary  prisoner.  A  single 
lamp  burned  before  him  on  a  table  of  stone,  and  threw 
its  rays  over  an  open  Bible  ;  and  those  stern  but  fantastic 
legends  of  the  prowess  of  ancient  Rome,  which  the  genius 
of  Livy  has  dignified  into  history.*  A  chain  hung  pend¬ 
ent  from  the  vault  of  the  tower,  and  confined  the  captive  ; 
but  so  as  to  leave  his  limbs  at  sufficient  liberty  to  measure 
at  will  the  greater  part  of  the  cell.  Green  and  damp 
were  the  mighty  stones  of  the  walls,  and  through  a  narrow 
aperture,  high  out  of  reach,  came  the  moonlight,  and 
slept  in  long  shadow  over  the  rude  floor.  A  bed  at  one 
corner  completed  the  furniture  of  the  room.  Such  for 
months  had  been  the  abode  of  the  conqueror  of  the 
haughtiest  barons,  and  the  luxurious  dictator  of  the 
stateliest  city  of  the  world  ! 

Care,  and  travel,  and  time,  and  adversity,  had  wrought 
their  change  in  the  person  of  Rienzi.  The  proportions 


*  “Avea  libri  assai,  suo  Tito  Livio,  sue  storie  di  Roma,  la  Bibbia 
et  altri  libri  assai,  non  finava  di  studiare.” — Vit.  di  Col.  Rienzi^  lib. 
ii.  cap.  xiii.  See  translation  to  motto  to  Book  VII.  p.  235. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


159 


of  his  frame  had  enlarged  from  the  compact  strength,  of 
earlier  manhood,  the  clear  paleness  of  his  cheek  was  be¬ 
spread  with  a  hectic  and  deceitful  glow.  Even  in  hl^ 
present  studies,  intent  as  they  seemed,  and  genial  though 
the  lecture  to  a  mind  enthusiastic  even  to  fanaticism,  his 
*  eyes  could  not  rivet  themselves  as  of  yore  steadily  to  the 
page.  The  charm  was  gone  from  the  letters.  Every 
now  and  then  he  moved  restlessly,  started,  re-settled 
himself,  and  muttered  broken  exclamations  like  a  man  in 
an  anxious  dream.  Anon,  his  gaze  impatiently  turned 
upward,  about,  around,  and  there  was  a  strange  and 
wandering  fire  in  those  large  deep  eyes,  which  might 
have  thrilled  the  beholder  with  a  vague  and  unaccount¬ 
able  awe. 

Angelo  had  in  the  main  correctly  narrated  the  more 
recent  adventures  of  Rienzi  after  his  fall.  He  had  first 
with  Nina  and  Angelo  betaken  himself  to  Naples,  and 
found  a  fallacious  and  brief  favor  with  Louis,  King  of 
Hungary  ;  that  harsh  but  honorable  monarch  had  refused 
to  yield  his  illustrious  guest  to  the  demands  of  Clement, 
but  had  plainly  declared  his  inability  to  shelter  him  in 
safety.  Maintaining  secret  intercourse  with  his  partisans 
at  Rome,  the  fugitive  then  sought  a  refuge  with  the 
Eremites,  sequestered  in  the  lone  recesses  of  the  Monte 
Maiella,  where  in  solitude  and  thought  he  had  passed  a 
whole  year,  save  the  time  consumed  in  his  visit  to  and 
return  from  Florence.  Taking  advantage  of  the  Jubilee 
in  Rome,  he  had  then,  disguised  as  a  pilgrim,  traversed 
the  vales  and  mountains  still  rich  in  the  melancholy  ruins 


160 


RIENZI, 

of  ancient  Rome,  and  entering  the  city,  his  restless  and 
.  ambitious  spirit  indulged  in  new  but  vain  conspiracies  !  * 
Excommunicated  a  second  time  by  the  Cardinal  di  Cec- 
cano,  and  again  a  fugitive,  he  shook  the  dust  from  his 
feet  as  he  left  the  city,  and  raising  his  hands  towards 
those  walls,  in  which  are  yet  traced  the  witness  of  the 
Tarquins,  cried  aloud  —  “Honored  as  thy  prince  —  per¬ 
secuted  as  thy  victim  —  Rome,  Rome,  thou  shalt  yet  re¬ 
ceive  me  as  thy  conqueror  I  ” 

Still  disguised  as  a  pilgrim,  he  passed  unmolested 
through  Italy  into  the  court  of  the  Emperor  Charles  of 
Bohemia,  where  the  page,  who  had  probably  witnessed, 
had  rightly  narrated,  his  reception.  It  is  doubtful,  how¬ 
ever,  whether  the  conduct  of  the  emperor  had  been  as 
chivalrous  as  appears  by  Angelo’s  relation,  or  whether  he 
had  not  delivered  Rienzi  to  the  pontiff’s  emissaries.  At 
all  events  it  is  certain,  that  from  Prague  to  Avignon,  the 
path  of  the  fallen  Tribune  had  been  as  one  triumph.  His 
strange  adventures — his  unbroken  spirit — the  new  power 
that  Intellect  daily  and  wonderfully  excited  over  the 
minds  of  the  rising  generation — the  eloquence  of  Petrarch, 
and  the  common  sympathy  of  the  vulgar  for  fallen  great¬ 
ness, — all  conspired  to  make  Rienzi  the  hero  of  the  age. 
Rot  a  town  through  which  he  passed  which  would  not 
have  risked  a  siege  for  his  protection  —  not  a  house  that 
would  not  have  sheltered  him  —  not  a  hand  that  would 
not  have  struck  in  his  defence.  Refusing  all  offers  of 


*  Rainald,  Ann.  1350,  N.  4,  E.  5. 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


161 


aid,  disdaining  all  occasion  of  escape,  inspired  by  his  in¬ 
domitable  hope,  and  his  unalloyed  belief  in  the  brightness 
of  his  own  destinies,  the  Tribune  sought  Avignon  —  and 
found  a  dungeon ! 

These,  his  external  adventures,  are  briefly  and  easily 
told  ;  but  who  shall  tell  what  passed  within  !  —  who  nar¬ 
rate  the  fearful  history  of  the  heart  ?  —  who  paint  the 
rapid  changes  of  emotion  and  of  thought — the  indignant 
grief — the  stern  dejection — the  haughty  disappointment 
that  saddened  while  it  never  destroyed  the  resolve  of  that 
great  soul  ?  Who  can  say  what  must  have  been  en¬ 
dured,  what  meditated,  in  the  hermitage  of  Maiella  ;  — 
on  the  lonely  hills  of  the  perished  empire  it  had  been  his 
dream  to  restore  ;  — in  the  courts  of  barbarian  kings  ; — 
and  above  all,  on  returning  obscure  and  disguised, 
amidst  the  crowds  of  the  Christian  world,  to  the  seat  of 
his  former  power  ?  What  elements  of  memory,  and  in 
what  a  wild  and  fiery  brain  1  What  reflections  to  be 
conned  in  the  dungeons,  of  Avignon,  by  a  man  who  had 
pushed  into  all  the  fervor  of  fanaticism  —  four  passions, 
a  single  one  of  which  has,  in  excess,  sufficed  to  wreck 
the  strongest  reason — passions,  which  in  themselves  it  is 
most  difficult  to  combine, — the  dreamer — the  aspirant — 
the  very  nympholept  of  Freedom,  yet  of  Power  —  of 
Knowledge  yet  of  Religion  ! 

“Ay,”  muttered  the  prisoner,  “  ay,  these  texts  are  com¬ 
forting —  comforting.  The  righteous  are  not  always  op¬ 
pressed.”  With  a  long  sigh  he  deliberately  put  aside  the 
Bible,  kissed  it  with  great  reverence,  remained  silent  and 
14*  L 


162 


RIENZI, 


musing  for  some  minutes ;  and  then  as  a  slight  noise  was 
heard  at  one  corner  of  the  cell,  said  softly,  “Ah,  my 
feiends,  my  comrades,  the  rats  I  it  is  their  hour  —  I  am 
glad  I  put  aside  the  bread  for  them  !  ”  His  eye 
brightened  as  it  now  detected  those  strange  and  unsocial 
animals  venturing  forth  through  a  hole  in  the  wall,  and, 
darkening  the  moonshine  on  the  floor,  steal  fearlessly 
towards  him.  He  flung  some  fragments  of  bread  to 
them,  and  for  some  moments  watched  their  gambols  with 
a  smile.  “  Manchino,  the  white-faced  rascal  I  he  beats 
all  the  rest  —  ha,  ha  !  he  is  a  superior  wretch  —  he  com¬ 
mands  the  tribe,  and  will  venture  the  first  into  the  trap. 
How  will  he  bite  against  the  steel,  the  fine  fellow  !  while 
all  the  ignobler  herd  will  gaze  at  him  afar  off,  and  quake  . 
and  fear,  and  never  help.  Yet  if  united,  they  might  gnaw 
the  trap  and  release  their  leader  !  Ah,  ye  are  base  vermin, 
ye  eat  my  bread,  yet  if  death  came  upon  me,  ye  would 
riot  on  my  carcase.  Away  !  ”  and  clapping  his  hands, 
the  chain  round  him  clanked  harshly,  and  the  noisome  co¬ 
mates  of  his  dungeon  vanished  in  an  instant. 

That  singular  and  eccentric  humor  which  marked 
Hienzi,  and  which  had  seemed  a  buffoonery  to  the  stolid 
sullenness  of  the  Roman  nobles,  still  retained  its  old  ex¬ 
pression  in  his  countenance,  and  he  laughed  loud  as  he 
saw  the  vermin  hurry  back  to  their  hiding-place. 

“A  little  noise  and  the  clank  of  a  chain  —  fie,  how  ye 
imitate  mankind  !  ”  Again  he  sank  into  silence,  and 
then  heavily  and  listlessly  drawing  towards  him  the 
animated  tales  of  Livy,  said,  “An  hour  to  midnight !  — 


THE  LAST  OE  THE  TRIBUNES. 


lf)3 


waking  dreams  are  better  than  sleep.  Well,  history  tells 
us  how  men  have  risen  —  ay,  and  nations  too  —  after 
sadder  falls  than  that  of  Rienzi  or  of  Rome  !  ” 

In  a  few  minutes,  he  was  apparently  absorbed  in  the 
lecture  ;  so  intent,  indeed,  was  he  in  the  task,  that  he  did 
not  hear  the  steps  which  wound  the  spiral  stairs  that 
conducted  to  his  cell,  and  it  was  not  till  the  wards  harshly 
grated  beneath  the  huge  key,  and  the  door  creaked  on 
its  hinges,  that  Rienzi,  in  amaze  at  intrusion  at  so  un¬ 
wonted  an  hour,  lifted  his  eyes.  The  door  had  reclosed 
on  the  dungeon,  and  by  the  lonely  and  pale  lamp  he 
beheld  a  figure  leaning,  as  for  support,  against  the  wall. 
The  figure  was  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  the  long 
.cloak  of  the  day,  which,  aided  by  a  broad  hat,  shaded  by 
plumes,  concealed  even  the  features  of  the  visitor. 

Rienzi  gazed  long  and  wistfully. 

“Speak,”  he  said  at  length,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
brow.  “  Methinks  either  long  solitude  has  bewildered 
me,  or,  sweet  sir,  your  apparition  dazzles.  I  know  you 
not  —  am  I  sure  ?  — ”  and  Rienzi’s  hair  bristled  while  he 
slowly  rose. —  “Am  I  sure  that  it  is  living  man  who 
stands  before  me  ?  Angels  have  entered  the  prison-house 
before  now.  Alas  !  an  angel’s  comfort  never  was  more 
needed.” 

.The  stranger  answered  not,  but  the  captive  saw  that 
his  heart  heaved  even  beneath  his  cloak ;  loud  sobs 
choked  his  voice  ;  at  length,  as  by  a  violent  effort,  he 
sprung  forward,  and  sank  at  the  Tribune’s  feet.  The 
disguising  hat,  the  long  mantle,  fell  to  the  ground  —  it 


164 


R  I  E  N  Z  I , 

was  the  face  of  a  woman  that  looked  upward  through 
passionate  and  glazing  tears — the  arms  of  a  woman  that 
clasped  the  prisoner’s  knees  !  Rienzi  gazed  mute  and 
motionless  as  stone.  “  Powers  and  Saints  of  Heaven  I  ” 
he  murmured  at  last,  “  do  ye  tempt  me  further  !  — is  it  ? 

—  no,  no  —  yet  speak!” 

“Beloved  —  adored! — do  you  not  know  me?” 

“It  is  —  it  is!”  shrieked  Bienzi,  wildly,  “it  is  my 

Hina  —  my  wife  —  my - ”  His  voice  forsook  him. 

Clasped  in  each  other’s  arms,  the  unfortunates  for  some 
moments  seemed  to  have  lost  even  the  sense  of  delight  at 
their  reunion.  It  was  as  an  unconscious  and  deep  trance, 
through  which  something  like  a  dream  only  faintly  and 
indistinctly  stirs. 

At  length  recovered — at  length  restored,  the  first 
broken  exclamations,  the  first  wild  caresses  of  joy  over — ■ 
Nina  lifted  her  head  from  her  husband’s  bosom,  and 
gazed  sadly  on  his  countenance  —  “Oh,  what  thou  hast 
known  since  we  parted  !  —  what,  since  that  hour  when, 
borne  on  by  thy  bold  heart  and  wild  destiny,  thou  didst 
leave  me  in  the  imperial  court,  to  seek  again  the  diadem, 
and  find  the  chain  !  Ah,  why  did  I  heed  thy  commands  ? 
why  suffer  thee  to  depart  alone  ?  How  often  in  thy 
progress  hitherward,  in  doubt,  in  danger,  might  this 
bosom  have  been  thy  resting-place,  and  this  voice  have 
whispered  comfort  to  thy  soul  ?  Thou  art  well,  my  lord 

—  my  Cola  ?  Thy  pulse  beats  quicker  than  of  old — thy 
brow  is  furrowed.  Ah  !  tell  me  thou  art  well !  ” 

“Well,”  said  Rienzi,  mechanically.  “Methinks  so  ! _ 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES.  165 

the  mind  diseased  blunts  all  sense  of  bodily  decay.  Well 

—  yes  I  And  thou  —  thou,  at  least,  art  not  ^ changed, 
save  to  maturer  beauty.  The  glory  of  the  laurel-wreath 

has  not  faded  from  thy  brow.  Thou  shalt  yet - ”  then 

breaking  off  abruptly — “Rome — tell  me  of  Rome  I  And 
thou — how  earnest  thou  hither  ?  Ah  I  perhaps  my  doom 
is  sealed,  and  in  their  mercy  they  have  vouchsafed  that  I 
should  see  thee  once  more  before  the  deathsman  blinds 
me.  I  remember,  it  is  the  grace  vouchsafed  to  male¬ 
factors.  When  I  was  a  lord  of  life  and  death,  I  too 
permitted  the  meanest  criminal  to  say  farewell  to  those 
he  loved.” 

“No — not  so.  Cola!”  exclaimed  Nina,  putting  her 
hand  before  his  mouth.  “  I  bring  thee  more  auspicious 
tidings.  To-morrow  thou  art  to  be  heard.  The  favor 
of  the  court  is  propitiated.  Thou  wilt  be  acquitted.” 

“Ha!  speak  again.” 

“Thou  wilt  be  heard,  my  Cola  —  thou  must  be  ac¬ 
quitted  1  ” 

“  And  Rome  be  free  I  —  Great  God,  I  thank  Thee  !  ” 

The  Tribune  sank  on  his  knees,  and  never  had  his 
heart,  in  his  youngest  and  purest  hour,  poured  forth 
thanksgiving  more  fervent,  yet  less  selfish.  When  he 
rose  again,  the  whole  man  seemed  changed.  His  eye  had 
resumed  its  earlier  expressions  of  deep  and  serene  com¬ 
mand.  Majesty  sate  upon  his  brow.  The  sorrows  of 
the  exile  were  forgotten.  In  his  sanguine  and  rapid 
thoughts,  he  stood  once  more  the  guardian  of  his  country, 

—  and  its  sovereign  I 


166 


RIENZI, 


Nina  gazed  upon  him  with  that  intense  and  devoted 
worship,  which  steeped  her  vainer  and  her  harder  quali¬ 
ties  in  all  the  fondness  of  the  softest  woman.  ''  Such,” 
thought  she,  “  was  his  look  eight  years  ago,  when  he  left 
my  maiden  chamber,  full  of  the  mighty  schemes  which 
liberated  Rome — such  his  look,  when  at  the  dawning  sun 
he  towered  amidst  the  crouching  barons,  and  the  kneeling 
population  of  the  city  he  had  made  his  throne  I  ” 

“Yes,  Nina!”  said  Rienzi,  as  he  turned  and  caught 
her  eye.  “  My  soul  tells  me  that  my  hour  is  at  hand.  If 
they  try  me  openly,  they  dare  not  convict — if  they  acquit 
me,  they  dare  not  but  restore.  To-morrow,  saidst  thou, 
to-morrow  ?  ” 

“  To-morrow,  Rienzi ;  be  prepared  1  ” 

“  I  am — for  triumph  I  But  tell  me  what  happy  chance 
brought  thee  to  Avignon  !  ” 

“  Chance,  Cola  I  ”  said  Nina,  with  reproachful  tender¬ 
ness.  “  Could  I  know  that  thou  wert  in  the  dungeons  of 
the  pontiff,  and  linger  in  idle  security  at  Prague  I  Even 
at  the  emperor’s  court  thou  hadst  thy  partisans  and 
favorers.  Gold  was  easily  procured.  I  repaired  to  Flor¬ 
ence  —  disguised  my  name  —  and  came  hither  to  plot,  to 
scheme,  to  win  thy  liberty,  or  to  die  with  thee.  Ah  !  did 
not  thy  heart  tell  thee  that  morning  and  night  the  eyes 
of  thy  faithful  Nina  gazed  upon  this  gloomy  tower ;  and 
that  one  friend,  humble  though  she  be,  never  could  for¬ 
sake  thee  !  ” 

“  Sweet  Nina  !  Yet  —  yet  —  at  Avignon  power  yields 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


167 


not  to  beauty  without  reward.  Remember,  there  is  a 
worse  death  than  the  pause  of  life.” 

Nina  turned  pale.  “Fear  not,”  she  said,  with  a  low 
but  determined  voice,  “  fear  not,  that  men’s  lips  should 
say  Rienzi’s  wife  delivered  him.  None  in  this  corrupted 
court  know  that  I  am  thy  wife.” 

“Woman,”  said  the  Tribune,  sternly,  “thy  lips  elude 
the  answer  I  would  seek.  In  our  degenerate  time  and 
land,  thy  sex  and  ours  forget  too  basely  what  foulness 
writes  a  leprosy  in  the  smallest  stain  upon  a  matron’s 
honor.  That  thy  heart  would  never  wrong  me,  I  believe  ; 
but  if  thy  weakness,  thy  fear  of  my  death,  should  wrong 
me,  thou  art  a  bitterer  foe  to  Rienzi  than  the  swords  of 
the  Colonna.  Nina,  speak  I  ” 

“  Oh,  that  my  soul  could  speak,”  answered  Nina. 
“  Thy  words  are  music  to  me,  and  not  a  thought  of  mine 
but  echoes  them.  Could  I  touch  this  hand,  could  I  meet 
that  eye,  and  not  know  that  death  were  dearer  to  thee 
than  shame  ?  Rienzi,  when  last  we  parted  in  sadness, 
yet  in  hope,  what  were  thy  words  to  me  ?  ” 

“I  remember  them  well,”  returned  the  Tribune:  “'I 
leave  thee,’  I  said,  ‘  to  keep  alive  at  the  emperor’s  court,  by 
thy  genius,  the  Great  Cause.  Thou  hast  youth  and  beauty 
— and  courts  have  lawless  and  ruffian  suitors.  I  give  thee 
no  caution  ;  it  were  beneath  thee  and  me.  But  I  leave 

thee  the  power  of  death.’  And  with  that,  Nina - ” 

“  Thy  hands  tremblingly  placed  in  mine  this  dagger.  I 
live  —  need  I  say  more?” 


1G8 


RIENZI, 


“  My  noble  and  beloved  Nina,  it  is  enough.  Keep  the 
dagger  yet.’’ 

“  Yes  ;  till  we  meet  in  the  Capitol  of  Rome  !  ” 

A  slight  tap  was  heard  at  the  door ;  Nina  regained,  in 
an  instant,  her  disguise. 

‘‘  It  is  on  the  stroke  of  midnight,”  said  the  gaoler,  ap¬ 
pearing  at  the  threshold. 

“I  come,”  said  Nina. 

“And  thou  hast  to  prepare  thy  thoughts,”  she  whis¬ 
pered  to  Rienzi :  “  arm  all  thy  glorious  intellect.  Alas  1 
is  it  again  we  part  ?  How  my  heart  sinks  I  ” 

The  presence  of  the  gaoler  at  the  threshold  broke  the 
bitterness  of  parting  by  abridging  it.  The  false  page 
pressed  her  lips  on  the  prisoner’s  hand,  and  left  the  cell. 

The  gaoler,  lingering  behind  for  a  moment,  placed  a 
parchment  on  the  table.  It  was  the  summons  from  the 
court  appointed  for  the  trial  of  the  Tribune. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


169 


CHAPTER,  YI. 

The  scent  does  not  lie. — The  Priest  and  the  Soldier. 

On  descending  the  stairs,  Nina  was  met  by  Alvarez. 

Fair  page,”  said  the  Spaniard,  gaily,  “  thy  name,  thou 
tellest  me,  is  Yillani  ? — Angelo  Yillani — why  I  know  thy 
kinsman,  methinks.  Youchsafe,  young  master,  to  enter 
this  chamber,  and  drink  a  night-cup  to  thy  lady’s  health  ; 
I  would  fain  learn  tidings  of  my  old  friends.” 

At  another  time,”  answered  the  false  Angelo,  draw¬ 
ing  the  cloak  closer  round  her  face  ;  “it  is  late  —  I  am 
hurried.” 

“  Nay,”  said  the  Spaniard,  “  you  escape  me  not  so 
easily ;  ”  and  he  caught  firm  hold  of  the  page’s  shoulder. 

“  Unhand  me,  sir  I  ”  said  Nina,  haughtily,  and  almost 
weeping,  for  her  strong  nerves  were  yet  unstrung. 
“Gaoler,  at  thy  peril  —  unbar  the  gates.” 

“  So  hot,”  said  Alvarez,  surprised  at  so  great  a  waste 
of  dignity  in  a  page  ;  “nay,  I  meant  not  to  olfend  thee. 
May  I  wait  on  thy  pageship  to-morrow  ?  ” 

“Ay,  to-morrow,”  said  Nina,  eager  to  escape. 

“And  meanwhile,”  said  Alvarez,  “  I  will  accompany 
thee  home  —  we  can  confer  by  the  way.” 

So  saying,  without  regarding  the  protestations  of  the 
supposed  page,  he  passed  with  Nina  into  the  open  air. 
“  Your  lady,”  said  he,  carelessly,  “is  wondrous  fair  ;  her 

II.  — 15 


ItO  RIENZI, 

lightest  will  is  law  to  the  greatest  noble  of  Avignon. 
Methinks  she  is  of  Naples  —  is  it  so  ?  Art  thou  dumb, 
sweet  youth  ?  ” 

The  page  did  not  answer,  but,  with  a  step  so  rapid 
that  it  almost  put  the  slow  Spaniard  out  of  breath, 
hastened  along  the  narrow  space  between  the  tower  and 
the  palace  of  the  Signora  Cesarini,  nor  could  all  the 
efforts  of  Alvarez  draw  forth  a  single  syllable  from  his 
reluctant  companion,  till  they  reached  the  gates  of  the 
palace,  and  he  found  himself  discourteously  left  without 
the  walls. 

“A  plague  on  the  boy  !  ”  said  he,  biting  his  lips  ;  “  if 
the  cardinal  thrive  as  well  as  his  servant,  by’re  lady, 
Monsignore  is  a  happy  man  !  ’’ 

By  no  means  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  an  interview 
with  Albornoz,  who,  like  most  able  men,  valued  the 
talents  of  those  he  employed  exactly  in  proportion  to 
their  success,  the  Spaniard  slowly  returned  home.  With 
the  license  accorded  to  him,  he  entered  the  cardinal’s 
chamber  somewhat  abruptly,  and  perceived  him  in  earnest 
conversation  with  a  cavalier,  whose  long'  moustache, 
curled  upward,  and  the  bright  cuirass  worn  underneath 
his  mantle,  seemed  to  betoken  him  of  martial  profession. 
Pleased  with  the  respite,  Alvarez  hastily  withdrew  :  and, 
in  fact,  the  cardinal’s  thoughts  at  that  moment,  and  for 
that  night,  were  bent  upon  other  subjects  than  those  of 
love. 

The  interruption  served,  however,  to  shorten  the  con¬ 
versation  between  Albornoz  and  his  guest.  The  latter 


rose. 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


in 


“  I  think,”  said  he,  buckling  on  a  short  and  broad 
rapier,  which  he  laid  aside  during  the  interview,  —  “I 
think,  my  lord  cardinal,  you  encourage  me  to  consider 
that  our  negotiation  stands  a  fair  chance  of  a  prosperous 
close.  Ten  thousand  florins,  and  my  brother  quits  Yiterbo, 
and  launches  the  thunderbolt  of  the  Company  on  the 

lands  of  Rimini.  On  your  part - ” 

“On  my  part  it  is  agreed,”  said  the  cardinal,  “that 
the  army  of  the  Church  interferes  not  with  the  course  of 
your  brother’s  arms  —  there  is  peace  between  us.  One 
warrior  understands  another  !  ” 

“And  the  word  of  Giles  d’Albornoz,  son  of  the  royal 
race  of  Aragon,  is  a  guarantee  for  the  faith  of  a  cardi¬ 
nal,”  replied  the  cavalier,  with  a  smile.  “It  is,  my  lord, 
in  jom  former  quality  that  we  treat.” 

“  There  is  my  right  hand,”  answered  Albornoz,  too 
politic  to  heed  the  insinuation.  The  cavalier  raised  it 
respectfully  to  his  lips,  and  his  armed  tread  was  soon 
heard  descending  the  stairs. 

“  Victory,”  cried  Albornoz,  tossing  his  arms  aloof ; 
“  victory,  now  thou  art  mine  1  ” 

With  that  he  rose  hastily,  deposited  his  papers  in  an 
iron  chest,  and  opening  a  concealed  door  behind  the 
arras,  entered  a  chamber  that  rather  resembled  a  monk’s 
cell  than  the  apartment  of  a  prince.  Over  a  mean  pallet 
hung  a  sword,  a  dagger,  and  a  rude  image  of  the  Virgin. 
Without  summoning  Alvarez,  the  cardinal  unrobed,  and 
in  a  few  moments  was  asleep. 


m 


RIENZI, 


CHAPTER  YII. 

Vaucluse  and  its  genius  loci.  — Old  acquaintance  renewed. 

The  next  day  at  early  noon  the  cavalier  whom  our 
last  chapter  presented  to  the  reader,  was  seen  mounted 
on  a  strong  Norman  horse,  winding  his  way  slowly  along 
a  green  and  pleasant  path  some  miles  from  Avignon.  At 
length  he  found  himself  in  a  wild  and  romantic  valley, 
through  which  wandered  that  delightful  river  whose  name 
the  verse  of  Petrarch  has  given  so  beloved  a  fame. 
Sheltered  by  rocks,  and  in  this  part  winding  through  the 
greenest  banks,  enamelled  with  a  thousand  wild  flowers 
and  water-weeds,  went  the  crystal  Sorgia.  Advancing 
farther,  the  landscape  assumed  a  more  sombre  and  sterile 
aspect.  The  valley  seemed  enclosed  or  shut  in  by  fan¬ 
tastic  rocks  of  a  thousand  shapes,  down  which  dashed 
and  glittered  a  thousand  rivulets.  And  in  the  very 
wildest  of  the  scene,  the  ground  suddenly  opened  into  a 
quaint  and  cultivated  garden,  through  which,  amidst  a 
profusion  of  foliage,  was  seen  a  small  and  lonely  mansion, 
— the  hermitage  of  the  place.  The  horseman  was  in  the 
valley  of  the  Yaucluse  ;  and  before  his  eye  lay  the  garden 
and  the  house  of  Petrarch  1  Carelessly,  however,  his 
eye  scanned  the  consecrated  spot ;  and  unconsciously  it 
rested  for  a  moment  upon  a  solitary  figure  seated  musingly 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBCNES.  HS 

by  the  margin  of  the  river.  A  large  dog  at  the  side  of 
the  noonday  idler  barked  at  the  horseman  as  he  rode  on. 
“A  brave  animal  and  a  deep  bay  I  ”  thought  the  traveller  ; 
to  him  the  dog  seemed  an  object  much  more  interesting 
than  its  master.  And  so  —  as  the  crowd  of  little  men 
pass  unheeding  and  unmoved,  those  in  whom  posterity 
shall  acknowledge  the  landmarks  of  their  age, — the  horse¬ 
man  turned  his  glance  from  the  poet ! 

Thrice  blessed  name  I  Immortal  Florentine  !  *  not  as 
the  lover,  nor  even  as  the  poet,  do  I  bow  before  thy 
consecrated  memory  —  venerating  thee  as  one  it  were 
sacrilege  to  introduce  in  this  unworthy  page  —  save  by 
name  and  as  a  shadow  ;  but  as  the  first  who  ever  asserted 
to  people  and  to  prince  the  august  majesty  of  letters ; 
w'ho  claimed  to  genius  the  prerogative  to  influence  states, 
to  control  opinion,  to  hold  an  empire  over  the  hearts  of 
men,  and  prepare  events  by  animating  passion  and  guid¬ 
ing  thought  I  What,  (though  but  feebly  felt  and  dimly 
seen) — what  do  we  yet  owe  to  thee,  if  knowledge  be  now 
a  power  :  if  mind  be  a  prophet  and  a  fate,  foretelling 
and  foredooming  the  things  to  come  !  From  tlie  greatest 
to  the  least  of  us,  to  whom  the  pen  is  at  once  a  sceptre 
and  a  sword,  the  low-born  Florentine  has  been  the  arch¬ 
messenger  to  smooth  the  way  and  prepare  the  welcome. 
Yes!  even  the  meanest  of  the  aftercomers — even  he  who 
now  vents  his  gratitude,  —  is  thine  everlasting  debtor  ! 


*  I  need  scarcely  say  that  it  is  his  origin,  not  his  actual  birth, 
which  entitles  us  to  term  Petrarch  a  Florentine. 

15* 


V 


n4  RIENZI, 

Thine,  how  largely  is  the  honor,  if  his  labors,  humble 
though  they  be,  find  an  audience  wherever  literature  is 
known  ;  preaching  in  remotest  lands  the  moral  of  for¬ 
gotten  revolutions,  and  scattering  in  the  palace  and  the 
market-place  the  seeds  that  shall  ripen  into  fruit  when 
the  hand  of  the  sower  shall  be  dust,  and  his  very  name, 
perhaps,  be  lost !  For  few,  alas  !  are  they  whose  names 
may  outlive  the  grave  ;  but  the  thoughts  of  every  man 
who  writes  are  made  undying;  —  others  appropriate, 
advance,  exalt  them  ;  and  millions  of  minds,  unknown, 
undreamt  of,  are  required  to  produce  the  immortality  of 
one  ! 

Indulging  meditations  very  different  from  those  which 
the  idea  of  Petrarch  awakens  in  a  later  time,  the  cavalier 
pursued  his  path. 

The  valley  was  long  left  behind,  and  the  way  grew 
more  and  more  faintly  traced,  until  it  terminated  in  a 
wood,  through  whose  tangled  boughs  the  sunlight  broke 
playfully.  At  length,  the  wood  opened  into  a  wide 
glade,  from  which  rose  a  precipitous  ascent,  crowned  with 
the  ruins  of  an  old  castle.  The  traveller  dismounted,  led 
his  horse  up  the  ascent,  and,  gaining  the  ruins,  left  his 
steed  within  one  of  the  roofless  chambers,  overgrown 
with  the  longest  grass  and  a  profusion  of  wild  shrubs  ; 
thence  ascending,  with  some  toil,  a  narrow  and  broken 
staircase,  he  found  himself  in  a  small  room,  less  decaved 
than  the  rest,  of  which  the  roof  and  floor  were  yet  whole. 

Stretched  on  the  ground  in  his  cloak,  and  leaning  his 
head  thoughtfully  on  his  hand,  was  a  man  of  tall  stature. 


¥ 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  315 

and  middle  age.  He  lifted  himself  on  his  arm  with  great 
alacrity  as  the  cavalier  entered. 

“Well,  Brettone,  I  have  counted  the  hours  —  what 
tidings  ?  ” 

“Albornoz  consents.’’ 

“  Glad  news  !  Thou  givest  me  new  life.  Pardieu,  I 
shall  breakfast  all  the  better  for  this,  my  brother  I  Hast 
thou  remembered  that  I  am  famishing  ?  ” 

Brettone  drew  from  beneath  his  cloak  a  sufficiently 
huge  flask  of  wine,  and  a  small  pannier,  tolerably  well 
filled ;  the  inmate  of  the  tower  threw  himself  upon  the 
provant  with  great  devotion.  And  both  the  soldiers,  for 
such  they  were,  stretched  at  length  on  the  ground,  regaled 
themselves  with  considerable  zest,  talking  hastily  and 
familiarly  between  every  mouthful. 

“I  say,  Brettone,  thou  playest  unfairly;  thou  hast 
already  devoured  more  than  half  the  pasty : — push  it 
hitherward.  And  so  the  cardinal  consents !  What 
manner  of  man  is  he  ?  Able  as  they  say  ?  ” 

“Quick,  sharp,  and  earnest,  with  an  eye  of  fire,  few 
words,  and  comes  to  the  point.” 

“  Unlike  a  priest  then  ; — a  good  brigand  spoilt.  What 
hast  thou  heard  of  the  force  he  heads  ?  Ho,  not  so  fast 
with  the  wine.” 

“  Scanty  at  present.  He  relies  on  recruits  throughout 
'-Italy.”  ^ 

“  What  his  designs  for  Rome  ?  There,  my  brother, 
there  tends  my  secret  soul !  As  for  these  petty  towns 
and  petty  tyrants,  I  care  not  how  they  fall,  or  by  whom. 


RIENZI, 


But  the  pope  must  not  return  to  Rome.  Rome  must  be 
mine.  The  city  of  a  new  empire,  the  conquest  of  a  new 
Attila  !  There,  every  circumstance  combines  in  my  favor  ! 
—  the  absence  of  the  pope,  the  weakness  of  the  middle 
class,  the  poverty  of  the  populace,  the  imbecile  though 
ferocious  barbarism  of  the  barons,  have  long  concurred 
to  render  Rome  the  most  facile,  while  the  most  glorious 
conquest !  ” 

“My  brother,  pray  Heaven  your  ambition  do  not 
wreck  you  at  last ;  you  are  ever  losing  sight  of  the  land. 
Surely  with  the  immense  wealth  we  are  acquiring,  we 
may - ’’ 

“  Aspire  to  be  something  greater  than  Free  Compan¬ 
ions,  generals  to-day,  and  adventurers  to-morrow.  Re- 
memberest  thou,  how  the  Norman  sword  won  Sicily,  and 
how  the  bastard  William  converted  on  the  field  of  Hast¬ 
ings  his  baton  into  a  sceptre.  I  tell  thee,  Brettone,  that 
this  loose  Italy  has  crowns  on  the  hedge  that  a  dexterous 
hand  may  carry  off  at  the  point  of  the  lance.  My  course 
is  taken :  I  will  form  the  fairest  army  in  Italy,  and  with 
it  I  win  win  a  throne  in  the  Capitol.  Fool  that  I  was 
six  years  ago  !  Instead  of  deputing  that  mad  dolt  Pepin 
of  Minorbino,  had  I  myself  deserted  the  Hungarian,  and 
repaired  with  my  soldiery  to  Rome,  the  fall  of  Rienzi 
would  have  been  followed  by  the  rise  of  Montreal.  Pepin 
was  outwitted,  and  threwi^’^ay  the  prey  after  he  had 
hunted  it  down.  The  lion  shall  not  again  trust  the  chase 
to  the  jackal  I  ” 

“  Walter,  thou  speakest  of  the  fate  of  Rienzi :  let  it 
warn  thee  I  ’’ 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


177 


“  Rienzi  !  ”  replied  Montreal ;  “I  know  the  man  !  In 
peaceful  times,  or  with  an  honest  people,  he" would  have 
founded  a  great  dynasty.  But  he  dreamt  of  laws  and 
liberty  for  men  who  despise  the  first  and  will  not  protect 
the  last.  We,  of  a  harder  race,  know  that  a  new  throne 
must  be  built  by  the  feudal  and  not  the  civil  system  ;  and 
into  the  city  we  must  transport  the  camp.  It  is  by  the 
multitude  that  the  proud  Tribune  gained  power — by  the 
multitude  he  lost  it ;  it  is  by  the  sword  that  I  will  win  it, 
and  by  the  sword  will  I  keep  it !  ” 

“  Rienzi  was  too  cruel,  he  should  not  have  incensed 
the  barons,”  said  Brettone,  about  to  finish  the  flask,  when 
the  strong  hand  of  his  brother  plucked  it  from  him,  and 
anticipated  the  design. 

“Pooh,”  said  Montreal,  finishing  the  draught  with  a 
long  sigh,  “  he  was  not  cruel  enough.  He  sought  only 
to  be  jufet,  and  not  to  distinguish  between  noble  and 
peasant.  He  should  have  distinguished !  He  should 
have  exterminated  the  nobles  root  and  branch.  But 
this  no  Italian  can  do.  This  is  reserved  for  me.” 

“Thou  wouldst  not  butcher  all  the  best  blood  of 
Rome  ? ” 

“  Butcher  !  No,  but  I  would  seize  their  lands,  and 
endow  with  them  a  new  nobility,  the  hardy  and  fierce 
nobility  of  the  North,  who  well  know  how  to  guard  their 
prince,  and  will  guard  him^  the  fountain  of  their  own 
power.  Enough  of  this  no  .  And  talking  of  Rienzi — 
rots  he  still  in  his  dungeon  ?  ” 

* 


M 


178 


RIENZI, 


“Why,  this  morning,  ere  I  left,  I  heard  strange  news. 
The  town  was  astir,  groups  in  every  corner.  They  say 
that  Rienzi’s  trial  was  to  be  to-day,  and  from  the  names 
of  the  judges  chosen,  it  is  suspected  that  acquittal  is 
already  determined  on.” 

“Ha!  thou  shouldst  have  told  me  of  this  before.” 

“  Should  he  be  restored  to  Rome,  would  it  militate 
against  thy  plans  ?  ” 

“  Humph  !  I  know  not — deep  thought  and  dexterous 
management  would  be  needed.  I  would  fain  not  leave 
this  spot  till  I  hear  what  is  decided  on.” 

“  Surely,  Walter,  it  would  have  been  wiser  and  safer 
to  have  stayed  with  thy  soldiery,  and  intrusted  me  with 
the  absolute  conduct  of  this  affair.” 

“Hot  so,”  answered  Montreal;  “thou  art  a  bold 

fellow  enough,  and  a  cunning - but  my  head  in  these 

matters  is  better  than  thine.  Resides,”  continued  the 
knight,  lowering  his  voice,  and  shading  his 'face,  “I  had 
vowed  a  pilgrimage  to  the  beloved  river,  and  the  old 

trysting-place.  Ah  me  I - But  all  this,  Brettone,  thou 

understandest  not  —  let  it  pass.  As  for  my  safety,  since 
we  have  come  to  this  amnesty  with  Albornoz,  I  fear  but 
little  danger  even  if  discovered :  besides,  I  want  the 
florins.  There  are  those  in  this  country,  Germans,  who 
could  eat  an  Italian  army  at  a  meal,  whom  I  would  fain 
engage,  and  their  leaders'^ want  earnest-money  —  the 
griping  knaves  1  How  are  the  cardinal’s  florins  to  be 
paid  ?  ” 


•V 


THE  LAST  OE  THE  TRIBUNES. 


179 


“  Half  now — half  when  thy  troops  are  before  Rimini !  ” 

**  Rimini  1  the  thought  whets  my  sword.  Rememberest 
thou  how  that  accursed  Malatesta  drove  me  from  Aversa,* 
broke  up  my  camp,  and  made  me  render  to  him  all  my 
booty  ?  There  fell  the  work  of  years  !  But  for  that,  my 
banner  now  would  be  floating  over  St.  Angelo.  I  will 
pay  back  the  debt  with  fire  and  sword,  ere  the  summer 
has  shed  its  leaves.’’ 

The  fair  countenance  of  Montreal  grew  terrible  as  he 
uttered  these  words ;  his  hands  griped  the  handle  of  his 
sword,  and  his  strong  frame  heaved  visibly ;  tokens  of 
the  fierce  and  unsparing  passions,  by  the  aid  of  which 
a  life  of  rapine  and  revenge  had  corrupted  a  nature 
originally  full  no  less  of  the  mercy  than  the  courage  of 
Provencal  chivalry. 

Such  was  the  fearful  man  who  now  (the  wildness  of  his 
youth  sobered,  and  his  ambition  hardened  and  con¬ 
centered)  was  the  rival  with  Rienzi  for  the  mastery  of 
Rome. 

*  This  Malatesta,  a  signor  of  illustrious  family,  was  one  of  the 
most  skilful  warriors  in  Italy.  He  and  his  brother  Galeotto  had 
been  raised  to  the  joint  tyranny  of  Rimini  by  the  voice  of  its 
citizens.  After  being  long  the  foes  of  the  church,  they  were 
ultimately  named  as  its  captains  by  the  Cardinal  Albornoz. 


180 


RIENZI, 


CHAPTER  Till. 

The  crowd.  —  The  trial.  —  The  verdict.  —  The  soldier  and  the  page. 

It  was  on  the  following  evening  that  a  considerable 
crowd  had  gathered  in  the  streets  of  Avignon.  It  was 
the  second  day  of  the  examination  of  Rienzi,  and  with 
every  moment  was  expected  the  announcement  of  the 
verdict.  Amongst  the  foreigners  of  all  countries  as¬ 
sembled  in  that  seat  of  the  papal  splendor,  the  interest 
was  intense.  The  Italians,  even  of  the  highest  rank, 
were  in  favor  of  the  Tribune,  the  French  against  him. 
As  for  the  good  towns-people  of  Avignon  themselves, 
they  felt  but  little  excitement  in  anything  that  did  not 
bring  money  into  their  pockets  ;  and  if  it  had  been  put 
to  the  secret  vote,  no  doubt  there  would  have  been  a  vast 
majority  for  burning  the  prisoner,  as  a  marketable 
speculation  ! 

Amongst  the  crowd  was  a  tall  man  in  a  plain  and 
rusty  suit  of  armor,  but  with  an  air  of  knightly  bearing, 
which  somewhat  belied  the  coarseness  of  his  mail ;  he 
wore  no  helmet,  but  a  small  morion  of  black  leather,  with 
a  long  projecting  shade,  much  used  by  wayfarers  in  the 
hot  climates  of  the  south.  A  black  patch  covered  nearly 
the  whole  of  one  cheek,  and  altogether  he  bore^he  ap- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


181 


pearance  of  a  grim  soldier,  with  whom  war  had  dealt 
harshly,  both  in  purse  and  person. 

Many  were  the  jests  at  the  shabby  swordsman’s  ex¬ 
pense  with  which  that  lively  population  amused  their  im¬ 
patience  ;  and  though  the  shade  of  the  morion  concealed 
his  eyes,  an  arch  and  merry  smile  about  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  showed  that  he  could  take  a  jest  at  him¬ 
self. 

“Well,”  said  one  of  the  crowd  (a  rich  Milanese),  I  am 
of  a  state  that  was  free,  and  I  trust  the  people’s  man  will 
have  justice  shown  him.” 

“Amen,”  said  a  grave  Florentine. 

“  They  say,”  whispered  a  young  student  from  Paris,  to 
a  learned  doctor  of  laws,  with  whom  he  abode,  “  that  his 
defence  has  been  a  masterpiece.” 

“  He  hath  taken  no  degrees,”  replied  the  doctor, 
doubtingly.  “  Ho,  friend,  why  dost  thou  push  me  so  ? 
thou  hast  rent  my  robe.” 

This  was  said  to  a  minstrel,  or  jongleur,  who,  with  a 
small  lute  slung  round  him,  was  making  his  way,  with 
great  earnestness,  through  the  throng. 

“I  beg  pardon,  worthy  sir,”  said  the  minstrel;  “but 
this  is  a  scene  to  be  sung  of  I  Centuries  hence  ;  ay,  and 
in  lands  remote,  legend  and  song  will  tell  the  fortunes  of 
Cola  di  Rienzi,  the  friend  of  Petrarch  and  the  Tribune 
of  Rome  I  ” 

The  young  French  student  turned  quickly  round  to  the 
minstrel,  with  a  glow  on  his  pale  face ;  not  sharing  the 
general  sentiments  of  his  countrymen  against  Rienzi,  he 
IL  — 16 


182 


RIEN  ZI, 


felt  that  it  was  an  era  in  the  world  when  a  minstrel  spoke 
thus  of  the  heroes  of  intellect  —  not  of  war. 

At  this  time  the  tall  soldier  was  tapped  impatiently  on 
the  back. 

“  I  pray  thee,  great  sir,’’  said  a  sharp  and  imperious 
voice,  “  to  withdraw  that  tall  bulk  of  thine  a  little  on  one 
side  —  I  cannot  see  through  thee  :  and  I  would  fain  my 
eyes  were  among  the  first  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Rienzi 
as  he  passes  from  the  court.” 

“  Fair  sir  page,”  replied  the  soldier,  good-humoredly, 
as  he  made  way  for  Angelo  Yillani,  “thou  wilt  not 
always  find  that  way  in  the  world  is  won  by  commanding 
the  strong.  When  thou  art  older,  thou  wilt  beard  the 
weak,  and  the  strong  thou  wilt  wheedle.” 

“  I  must  change  my  nature,  then,”  answered  Angelo 
(who  was  of  somewhat  small  stature,  and  not  yet  come 
to  his  full  growth),  trying  still  to  raise  himself  above  the 
heads  of  the  crowd. 

The  soldier  looked  at  him  approvingly ;  and  as  he 
looked  he  sighed,  and  his  lips  worked  with  some  strange 
emotion. 

“  Thou  speakest  well,”  said  he,  after  a  pause.  “  Par¬ 
don  me  the  rudeness  of  the  question  ;  but  art  thou  of 
Italy  ?  —  thy  tongue  savors  of  the  Roman  dialect ;  yet  I 
have  seen  lineaments  like  thine  on  this  side  the  Alps.” 

“  It  may  be,  good  fellow,”  said  the  page,  haughtily, 
“but  I  thank  Heaven  that  I  am  of  Rome.” 

At  this  moment  a  loud  shout  burst  from  that  part  of 
the  crowd  nearest  the  court.  The  sound  of  trumpets 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


183 


again  hushed  the  throng  into  deep  and  breathless  silence, 
while  the  pope’s  guards,  ranged  along  the  space  conduct¬ 
ing  from  the  court,  drew  themselves  up  more  erect,  and 
fell  a  step  or  two  back  upon  the  crowd. 

As  the  trumpet  ceased,  the  voice  of  a  herald  was  heard, 
but  it  did  not  penetrate  within  several  yards  of  the  spot 
where  Angelo  and  the  soldier  stood ;  and  it  was  only  by 
a  mighty  shout  that  in  a  moment  circled  through,  and 
was  echoed  back  by,  the  wild  multitude  —  by  the  waving 
of  kerchiefs  from  the  windows  —  by  broken  ejaculations, 
which  were  caught  up  from  lip  to  lip,  that  the  page  knew 
that  Rienzi  was  acquitted. 

“  I  would  I  could  see  his  face  !  ”  sighed  the  page, 
querulously. 

“  And  thou  shalt,”  said  the  soldier ;  and  he  caught  up 
the  boy  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  on  with  the  strength  of 
a  giant,  parting  the  living  stream  from  right  to  left,  as 
he  took  his  way  to  a  place  near  the  guards,  and  by  which 
Rienzi  was  sure  to  pass. 

The  page,  half- pleased,  half- indignant,  struggled  a 
little,  but  finding  it  in  vain,  consented  tacitly  to  what  he 
felt  an  outrage  on  his  dignity. 

Never  mind,”  said  the  soldier;  “thou  art  the  first  I 
ever  willingly  raised  above  myself ;  and  I  do  it  now  for 
the  sake  of  thy  fair  face,  which  reminds  me  of  one  I 
loved.” 

But  these  last  words  were  spoken  low,  and  the  boy,  in 
his  anxiety  to  see  the  hero  of  Rome,  did  not  hear  or  heed 
them.  Presently  Rienzi  came  by  :  two  gentlemen,  of  the 


184 


RIENZI, 


pope’s  own  following,  walked  by  bis  side.  He  moved  slow¬ 
ly,  amidst  the  greetings  and  clamor  of  the  crowd,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  left.  His  bearing  was  firm  and 
collected,  and,  save  by  the  flush  of  his  cheek,  there  was 
no  external  sign  of  joy  or  excitement.  '  Flowers  dropped 
from  every  balcony  on  his  path ;  and  just  when  he  came 
to  a  broader  space,  where  the  ground  was  somewhat 
higher,  and  where  he  was  in  fuller  view  of  the  houses 
around,  he  paused  —  and,  uncovering,  acknowledged  the 
homage  he  had  received,  with  a  look — a  gesture  —  which 
each  who  beheld  never  forgot.  It  haunted  even  that  gay 
and  thoughtless  court,  when  the  last  tale  of  Rienzi’s  life 
reached  their  ears.  And  Angelo,  clinging  then  round 
that  soldier’s  neck,  recalled  —  but  we  must  not  antici¬ 
pate. 

It  was  not,  however,  to  the  dark  tower  that  Rienzi 
returned.  His  home  was  prepared  at  the  palace  of  the 
Cardinal  d’Albornoz.  The  next  day  he  was  admitted  to 
the  pope’s  presence,  and  on  the  evening  of  that  day  he 
was  proclaimed  Senator  of  Rome. 

Meanwhile  the  soldier  had  placed  Angelo  on  the 
ground ;  and  as  the  page  faltered  out  no  courteous  thanks, 
he  interrupted  him  in  a  sad  and  kind  voice,  the  tone  of 
which  struck  the  page  forcibly,  so  little  did  it  suit  the 
rough  and  homely  appearance  of  the  man. 

We  part,”  he  said,  “as  strangers,  fair  boy  ;  and  since 
thou  sayest  thou  art  of  Rome,  there  is  no  reason  why 
my  heart  should  have  warmed  to  thee  as  it  has  done ; 
yet  if  ever  thou  wantest  a  friend  —  seek  him”  —  and  the 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


185 


soldier’s  voice  sank  into  a  whisper  —  “in  Walter  de 
Montreal.” 

Ere  the  page  recovered  his  surprise  at  that  redoubted 
name,  which  his  earliest  childhood  had  been  taught  to 
dread,  the  Knight  of  St.  John  had  vanished  amongst  the 
crowd. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Albornoz  and  Nina. 

But  the  eyes  which,  above  all  others,  thirsted  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  released  captive,  were  forbidden  that 
delight.  Alone  in  her  chamber,  Xina  awaited  the  result 
of  the  trial.  She  heard  the  shouts,  the  exclamations,  the 
tramp  of  thousands  along  the  street ;  she  felt  that  the 
victory  was  won  ;  and,  her  heart  long  overcharged,  she 
burst  into  passionate  tears.  The  return  of  Angelo  soon 
acquainted  her  with  all  that  had  passed ;  but  it  some¬ 
what  chilled  her  joy  to  find  Rienzi  was  the  guest  of  the 
dreaded  cardinal.  That  shock,  in  which  certainty,  how¬ 
ever  happy,  replaces  suspense,  had  so  powerful  an  effect 
on  her  frame,  joined  to  her  loathing  fear  of  a  visit  from 
the  cardinal,  that  she  became  for  three  days  alarmingly 
ill ;  and  it  was  only  on  the  fifth  day  from  that  which  saw 
Rienzi  endowed  with  the  rank  of  Senator  of  Rome,  that 
she  was  recovered  sufficiently  to  admit  Albornoz  to  her 
presence. 

16* 


186 


RI  E  N  ZI, 


The  cardinal  had  sent  daily  to  inquire  after  her  health, 
and  his  inquiries,  to  her  alarmed  mind,  had  appeared  to 
insinuate  a  pretension  to  the  right  to  make  them.  Mean¬ 
while  Albornoz  had  had  enough  to  divert  and  occupy  his 
thoughts.  Having  bought  olf  the  formidable  Montreal 
from  the  service  of  John  di  Yico,  one  of  the  ablest  and 
fiercest  enemies  of  the  Church,  he  resolved  to  march  to 
the  territories  of  that  tyrant  as  expeditiously  as  possible, 
and  so  not  to  allow  him  time  to  obtain  the  assistance  of 
any  other  band  of  the  mercenary  adventurers  who  found 
Italy  the  market  for  their  valor.  Occupied  with  raising 
troops,  procuring  money,  corresponding  with  the  various 
free  states,  and  establishing  alliances  in  aid  of  his  ulterior 
and  more  ambitious  projects  at  the  court  of  Avignon,  the 
cardinal  waited  with  tolerable  resignation  the  time  when 
he  might  claim  from  the  Signora  Cesarini  the  reward  to 
which  he  deemed  himself  entitled.  Meanwhile  he  had 
held  his  first  conversations  with  Kienzi,  and,  under  the 
semblance  of  courtesy  to  the  acquitted  Tribune,  Albornoz 
had  received  him  as -his  guest,  in  order  to  make  himself 
master  of  the  character  and  disposition  of  one  in  whom 
he  sought  a  minister  and  a  tool.  That  miraculous  and 
magic  art,  attested  by  the  historians  of  tlie  time,  which 
Kienzi  possessed  over  every  one  with  whom  he  came  into 
contact,  however  various  in  temper,  station,  or  opinions, 
had  not  deserted  him  in  his  interview  with  the  pontiff. 
So  faithfully  had  he  described  the  true  condition  of  Rome, 
so  logically  had  he  traced  the  causes  and  the  remedies 
of  the  evils  she  endured,  so  sanguinely  had  he  spoken  of- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


18T 


his  own  capacities  for  administering  her  affairs,  and  so 
brilliantly  had  he  painted  the  prospects  which  that  ad¬ 
ministration  opened  to  the  weal  of  the  Church,  and  the 
interests  of  the  pope,  that  Innocent,  though  a  keen  and 
shrewd,  and  somewhat  sceptical  calculator  of  human 
chances,  was  entirely  fascinated  by  the  eloquence  of  the 
Homan. 

“  Is  this  the  man,’’  he  is  reported  to  have  said,  w^hom 
for  twelve  months  we  have  treated  as  a  prisoner  and  a 
criminal?  Would  that  it  were  on  his  shoulders  only  that 
the  Christian  empire  reposed  I  ” 

At  the  close  of  the  interview  he  had,  with  every  mark 
of  favor  and  distinction,  conferred  upon  Rienzi  the  rank 
of  senator,  which,  in  fact,  was  that  of  viceroy  of  Rome, 
and  had  willingly  acceded  to  all  the  projects  which  the 
enterprising  Rienzi  had  once  more  formed — not  only  for 
recovering  the  territories  of  the  Church,  but  for  extending 
the  dictatorial  sway  of  the  Seven-hilled  City  over  the 
whole  dependencies  of  Italy. 

Albornoz,  to  whom  the  pope  retailed  this  conversation, 
was  somewhat  jealous  of  the  favor  the  new  senator  had 
so  suddenly  acquired,  and  immediately  on  his  return  home 
sought  an  interview  with  his  guest.  In  his  heart,  the 
lord  cardinal,  emphatically  a  man  of  action  and  business, 
regarded  Rienzi  as  one  rather  cunning  than  wdse — rather 
fortunate  than  great  —  a  mixture  of  the  pedant  and  the 
demagogue.  But  after  a  long  and  scrutinizing  conver¬ 
sation  with  the  new  senator,  even  he  yielded  to  the  spell 
of  his  enchanting  and  master  intellect.  Reluctantly  Al- 


188 


RIENZI, 

bornoz  confessed  to  himself  that  Rienzi’s  rise  was  not  the 
thing  of  chance ;  yet  more  reluctantly  he  perceived  that 
the  senator  was  one  whom  he  might  treat  with  as  an  equal, 
but  could  not  rule  as  a  minion.  And  he  entertained 
serious  doubts  whether  it  would  be  wise  to  reinstate  him 
in  a  power  which  he  evinced  the  capacity  to  wield  and 
the  genius  to  extend.  Still,  however,  he  did  not  repent 
the  share  he  had  taken  in  Rienzi’s  acquittal.  His  presence 
in  a  camp  so  thinly  peopled  was  a  matter  greatly  to  be 
desired.  And  through  his  influence,  the  cardinal  more 
than  ever  trusted  to  enlist  the  Romans  in  favor  of  his 
enterprise  for  the  recovery  of  the  territory  of  St.  Peter  ! 

Rienzi,  who  panted  once  more  to  behold  his  Nina,  en¬ 
deared  to  him  by  trial  and  absence,  as  by  fresh  bridals, 

\ 

was  not  however  able  to  discover  the  name  she  had  as¬ 
sumed  at  Avignon  ;  and  his  residence  with  the  cardinal, 
closely  but  respectfully  watched  as  he  was,  forbade  Nina 
all  opportunity  of  corresponding  with  him.  Some  half- 
bantering  hints  which  Albornoz  had  dropped  upon  the 
interest  taken  in  his  welfare  by  the  most  celebrated  beauty 
of  Avignon,  had  filled  him  with  a  vague  alarm  which  he 
trembled  to  acknowledge  even  to  himself.  But  the  voUo 
sciolto"^  wdiich,  in  common  with  all  Italian  politicians, 
concealed  whatever  were  his  peyisieri  stretti — enabled  him 
to  baffle  completely  the  jealous  and  lynx-like  observation 
of  the  cardinal.  Nor  had  Alvarez  been  better  enabled  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  his  master.  He  had  indeed  sought 

*  Volto  sciolto,  pensieri  stretti” — the  countenance  open,  the 
thoughts  restrained. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  189 

t 

the  page  Yillani,  but  the  imperious  manner  of  that  way¬ 
ward  and  haughty  boy  had  cut  short  all  attempts  at  cross- 
examination.  And  all  he  could  ascertain  was,  that  the 
real  Angelo  Yillani  was  not  the  Angelo  Yillani  who  had 
visited  Rienzi. 

Trusting  at  last  that  he  should  learn  all,  and  inflamed 
by  such  passion  and  such  hope  as  he  was  capable  of  feel¬ 
ing,  Albornoz  now  took  his  way  to  the  Cesarini’s  palace. 

He  was  ushered  with  due  state  into  the  apartment  of  the 
signora.  He  found  her  pale,  and  with  the  traces  of  illness 
upon  her  noble  and  statue-like  features.  She  rose  as  he 
entered  ;  and  when  he  approached,  she  half  bent  her  knee, 
and  raised  his  hand  to  her  lips.  Surprised  and  delighted 
at  a  reception  so  new,  the  cardinal  hastened  to  prevent 
the  condescension ;  retaining  both  her  hands,  he  at¬ 
tempted  gently  to  draw  them  to  his  heart. 

“  Fairest !  ”  he  whispered,  “  couldst  thou  know  how  I 
have  mourned  thy  illness  —  and  yet  it  has  but  left  thee 
more  lovely,  as  the  rain  only  brightens  the  flower.  Ah  I 
happy  if  I  have  promoted  thy  lightest  wish,  and  if  in  thine 
eyes  I  may  henceforth  seek  at  once  an  angel  to  guide  me 
and  a  paradise  to  reward.” 

Hina,  releasing  her  hand,  waved  it  gently,  and  motioned 
the  cardinal  to  a  seat.  Seating  herself  at  a  little  distance, 
she  then  spoke  with  great  gravity  and  downcast  eyes. 

“My  lord,  it  is  your  intercession,  joined  to  his  own  in¬ 
nocence,  that  has  released  from  yonder  tower  the  elected 
governor  of  the  people  of  Rome.  But  freedom  is  the 
least  of  the  generous  gifts  you  have  conferred  ;  there  is  a 


190 


RIENZI, 


greater  in  a  fair  name  vindicated,  and  rightful  honors  re¬ 
bestowed.  For  this  I  rest  ever  your  debtor  ;  for  this,  if 
I  bear  children,  they  shall  be  taught  to  bless  your  name ; 
for  this  the  historian  who  recalls  the  deeds  of  this  age, 
and  the  fortunes  of  Cola  di  Rienzi,  shall  add  a  new  chap¬ 
let  to  the  wreaths  you  have  already  won.  Lord  Cardinal, 
I  may  have  erred.  I  may  have  offended  you  —  you  may 
accuse  me  of  woman’s  artifice.  Speak  not,  wonder  not, 
hear  me  out.  I  have  but  one  excuse,  when  I  say  that  I 
held  justified  any  means  short  of  dishonor,  to  save  the  life 
and  restore  the  fortunes  of  Cola  di  Rienzi.  Know,  my 
lord,  that  she  who  now  addresses  you  is  his  wife.” 

The  cardinal  remained  motionless  and  silent.  But  his 
sallow  countenance  grew  flushed  from  the  brow  to  the 
neck,  and  his  thin  lips  quivered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
broke  into  a  withering  and  bitter  smile.  At  length  he 
rose  from  his  seat,  very  slowly,  and  said,  in  a  voice  trem¬ 
bling  with  passion  — 

“  It  is  well,  madam.  Giles  d’Albornoz  has  been,  then, 
a  puppet  in  the  hands,  a  stepping-stone  in  the  rise,  of 
the  plebeian  demagogue  of  Rome.  You  but  played  upon 
me  for  your  own  purposes  ;  and  nothing  short  of  a  car¬ 
dinal  of  Spain,  and  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood  of  Aragon, 
was  meet  to  be  the  instrument  of  a  mountebank’s  juggle  ! 
Madam,  yourself  and  your  husband  might  justly  be  ac¬ 
cused  of  ambition - ” 

“  Cease,  my  lord,”  said  Nina,  with  unspeakable  dignity ; 

whatever  offence  has  been  committed  against  you  was 
mine  alone.  Till  after  our  last  interview,  Rienzi  knew 
not  even  of  my  presence  at  Avignon.” 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


191 


^‘At  our  last  interview,  lady,  (you  do  well  to  recall 
it !),  metliinks  there  was  a  hinted  and  implied  contract. 
I  have  fulfilled  my  part  —  I  claim  yours.  Mark  me  !  I 
do  not  forego  that  claim.  As  easily  as  I  rend  this  glove 
can  I  rend  the  parchment  which  proclaims  thy  husband 
‘  the  Senator  of  Rome.’  The  dungeon  is  not  death,  and 
its  door  will  open  twice.'^^ 

“  My  lord  —  my  lord  !  ”  cried  Nina,  sick  with  terror, 
wrong  not  so  your  noble  nature,  your  great  name,  your 
sacred  rank,  your  chivalric  blood.  You  are  of  the 
knightly  race  of  Spain,  yours  not  the  sullen,  low,  and 
inexorable  vices  that  stain  the  petty  tyrants  of  this  un¬ 
happy  land.  You  are  no  Yisconti — no  Castracani — you 
cannot  stain  your  laurels  with  revenge  upon  a  woman. 
Hear  me,”  she  continued,  and  she  fell  abruptly  at  his 
feet ;  “  men  dupe,  deceive  our  sex  —  and  for  selfish  pur¬ 
poses  ;  they  are  pardoned  —  even  by  their  victims.  Did 
I  deceive  you  with  a  false  hope  ?  Well,  what  my  object  ? 

—  what  my  excuse  ?  My  husband’s  liberty  —  my  land’s 
salvation  !  Woman,  my  lord,  alas  !  your  sex  too  rarely 
understand  her  weakness  or  her  greatness  !  Erring — all 
human  as  she  is  to  others — God  gifts  her  with  a  thousand 
virtues  to  the  one  she  loves  !  It  is  from  that  love  that 
she  alone  drinks  her  nobler  nature.  For  the  hero  of  her 
worship  she  has  the  meekness  of  the  dove — the  devotion 
of  the  saint ;  for  his  safety  in  peril,  for  his  rescue  in  mis- 
fortune,  her  vain  sense  imbibes  the  sagacity  of  the  serpent 

—  her  weak  heart  the  courage  of  the  lioness  !  It  is  this 
which,  in  absence,  made  me  mask  ray  face  in  smiles,  that 


192 


RIENZI, 


the  friends  of  the  houseless  exile  might  not  despair  of 
his  fate  —  it  is  this  which  brought  me  through  forests 
beset  with  robbers,  to  watch  the  stars  upon  yon  solitary 
tower  —  it  was  this  which  led  my  steps  to  the  revels  of 
your  hated  court  —  this  which  made  me  seek  a  deliverer 
in  the  noblest  of  its  chiefs  —  it  is  this  which  has  at  last 
opened  the  dungeon  door  to  the  prisoner  now  within 
your  halls  ;  and  this,  lord  cardinal,”  added  Nina,  rising, 
and  folding  her  arms  upon  her  heart  —  “this,  if  your 
anger  seeks  a  victim,  will  inspire  me  to  die  without  a 
groan,  but  without  dishonor  !  ” 

Albornoz  remained  rooted  to  the  ground.  Amaze¬ 
ment — emotion — admiration — all  busy  at  his  heart.  He 
gazed  at  Nina’s  flashing  eyes  and  heaving  bosom  as  a 
warrior  of  old  upon  a  prophetess  inspired.  His  eyes 
were  riveted  to  hers  as  by  a  spell.  He  tried  to  speak, 
but  his  voice  failed  him.  Nina  continued  :  — 

“Yes,  my  lord  ;  these  are  no  idle  words  I  If  you  seek 
revenge,  it  is  in  your  power.  Undo  what  you  have  done. 
Give  Rienzi  back  to  the  dungeon,  or  to  disgrace,  and 
you  are  avenged ;  but  not  on  him.  All  the  hearts  of 
Italy  shall  become  to  him  a  second  Nina  !  I  am  the 
guilty  one,  and  I  the  sufferer.  Hear  me  swear  —  in  that 
instant  which  sees  new  wrong  to  Rienzi,  this  hand  is  my 
executioner.  — My  lord,  I  supplicate  you  no  longer  !” 

Albornoz  continued  deeply  moved.  Nina  but  rightly 
judged  him,  when  she  distinguished  the  aspiring  Spaniard 
from  the  barbarous  and  unrelenting  voluptuaries  of  Italy. 
Despite  the  profligacy  that  stained  his  sacred  robe  — 
despite  all  the  acquired  and  increasing  callousness  of  a 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


193 


hard,  scheming,  and  sceptical  man,  cast  amidst  the  worst 
natures  of  the  worst  of  times  —  there  lingered  yet  in  his 
soul  much  of  the  knightly  honor  of  his  race  and  country. 
High  thoughts  and  daring  spirits  touched  a  congenial 
string  in  his  heart,  and  not  the  less,  in  that  he  had  but 
rarely  met  them  in  his  experience  of  camps  and  courts. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  felt  that  he  had  seen  the 
woman  who  could  have  contented  him  even  with  wedlock, 
and  taught  him  the  proud  and  faithful  love  of  which  the 
minstrels  of  Spain  had  sung.  He  sighed,  and  still  gazing 
on  Hina,  approached  her  almost  reverentially ;  he  knelt 
and  kissed  the  hem  of  her  robe.  “Lady,”  he  said,  “I 
would  1  could  believe  that  you  have  altogether  read  my 
nature  arigfit,  but  I  were  indeed  lost  to  all  honor,  and  un¬ 
worthy  of  gentle  birth,  if  I  still  harbored  a  single  thought 
against  the  peace  and  virtue  of  one  like  thee.  Sweet 
heroine,”  he  continued,  “so  lovely,  yet  so  pure  —  so 
haughty,  and  yet  so  soft  —  thou  hast  opened  to  me  the 
brightest  page  these  eyes  have  ever  scanned  in  the  blotted 
volume  of  mankind.  Mayest  thou  have  such  happiness 
as  life  can  give  ;  but  souls  such  as  thine  make  their  nest 
like  the  eagle,  upon  rocks  and  amidst  the  storms.  Fear 
me  no  more  —  think  of  me  no  more  —  unless  hereafter, 
when  thou  hearest  men  speak  of  Giles  d’Albornoz,  thou 
mayest  say  in  thine  own  heart,” — and  here  the  cardinal’s 
lip  curled  with  scorn — “  he  did  not  renounce  every  feeling 
worthy  of  a  man,  when  ambition  and  fate  endued  him 
with  the  surplice  of  the  priest.” 

The  Spaniard  was  gone  before  Nina  could  reply. 

IT.— n  N 


BOOK  EIGHTH 


THE  GRAKD  COMPANY. 


Montreal  nourissoit  de  plus  vastes  projets  .  .  .  .  il  donnait  k  sa  compagnie  un 
gouvernement  regulier  ....  Par  cette  discipline  il  faisoit  regner  I’aboudance 
dans  son  camp;  lesgens  de  guerre  neparloient,  en  Italic,  que  des  richesses  qu’on 
acqueroit  k  son  service.  —  Sismondi,  “  Hist,  des  Republiques  Jtaliennes,”  tom.  vi. 
c.  42. 

Montreal  cherished  more  vast  designs  ....  he  subjected  his  company  to  a 
regular  system  of  government  ....  By  means  of  this  discipline  he  kept  his 
camp  abundantly  supplied;  and  military  adventurers  in  Italy  talked  of  nothing 
but  the  wealth  won  in  his  service.  —  Sismondi's  “  Hist,  of  Italian  Republics.” 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Encampment. 

It  was  a  most  lovely  day,  in  the  very  glow  and 
meridian  of  an  Italian  summer,  when  a  small  band  of 
horsemen  were  seen  winding  a  hill  which  commanded  one 
of  the  fairest  landscapes  of  Tuscany.  At  their  head 
was  a  cavalier  in  a  complete  suit  of  chain  armor,  the 
links  of  which  were  so  fine  that  they  resembled  a  delicate 
and  curious  network,  but  so  strongly  compacted,  that 
they  would  have  resisted  spear  or  sword  no  less  effectually 
than  the  heaviest  corselet,  while  adapting  themselves 

(194) 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


195 


exactly  and  with  ease  to  every  movement  of  the  light 
and  graceful  shape  of  the  rider.  He  wore  a  hat  of  dark 
green  velvet  shaded  by  long  plumes,  while  of  two  squires 
behind,  the  one  bore  his  helmet  and  lance,  the  other  led 
a  strong  war-horse,  completely  cased  in  plates  of  mail, 
which  seemed,  however,  scarcely  to  encumber  its  proud 
and  agile  paces.  The  countenance  of  the  cavalier  was 
comely,  but  strongly  marked,  and  darkened,  by  long 
exposure  to  the  suns  of  many  climes,  to  a  deep  bronze 
hue  :  a  few  raven  ringlets  escaped  from  beneath  his  hat 
down  a  cheek  closely  shaven.  The  expression  of  his 
features  was  grave  and  composed  even  to  sadness  ;  nor 
could  all  the  loveliness  of  the  unrivalled  scene  before 
him  dispel  the  quiet  and  settled  melancholy  of  his  eyes. 
Besides  the  squires,  ten  horsemen,  armed  cap-h-pie, 
attended  the  knight :  and  the  low  and  murmured  con¬ 
versation  they  carried  on  at  intervals,  as  well  as  their 
long  fair  hair,  large  stature,  thick  short  beards,  and  the 
studied  and  accurate  equipment  of  their  arms  and  steeds, 
bespoke  them  of  a  hardier  and  more  warlike  race  than 
the  children  of  the  south.  The  cavalcade  was  closed 
with  a  man  almost  of  gigantic  height,  bearing  a  banner 
richly  decorated,  wherein  was  wrought  a  column,  with 
the  inscription,  “Alone  amidst  ruins.”  Fair,  indeed, 
was  the  prospect  which  with  every  step  expanded  yet 
more  widely  its  various  beauty.  Right  before  stretched 
a  long  vale,  now  covered  with  green  woodlands  glittering 
in  the  yellow  sunlight,  now  opening  into  narrow  plains 
bordered  by  hillocks,  from  whose  mosses  of  all  hues  grew 


196 


RIENZI, 


fantastic  and  odorous  shrubs ;  while,  winding  amidst 
them,  a  broad  and  silver  stream  broke  into  light  at  fre¬ 
quent  intervals,  snatched  by  wood  and  hillock  from  tlie 
eye,  only  to  steal  upon  it  again  in  sudden  and  bright 
surprise.  The  opposite  slope  of  gentle  mountains,  as 
well  as  that  which  the  horsemen  now  descended,  was 
covered  with  vineyards,  trained  in  alleys  and  arcades ; 
and  the  clustering  grape  laughed  from  every  leafy  and 
glossy  covert,  as  gaily  as  when  the  fauns  held  a  holiday 
in  the  shade.  The  eye  of  the  cavalier  roved  listlessly 
over  this  enchanting  prospect,  sleeping  in  the  rosiest 
light  of  a  Tuscan  heaven,  and  then  became  fixed  with  a 
more  earnest  attention  on  the  grey  and  frowning  walls 
of  a  distant  castle,  which,  high  upon  the  steepest  of  the 
opposite  mountains,  overlooked  the  valley. 

“Behold,’^  he  muttered  to  himself,  “how  every  Eden 
in  Italy  hath  its  curse  !  Wherever  the  laud  smiles  fairest, 
be  sure  to  find  the  brigand’s  tent  and  the  tyrant’s 
castle  1  ” 

Scarce  had  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind, 
ere  the  shrill  and  sudden  blast  of  a  bugle  that  sounded 
close  amongst  the  vineyards  by  the  side  of  the  path, 
startled  the  whole  group.  The  cavalcade  halted  abruptly. 
The  leader  made  a  gesture  to  the  squire  who  led  his  war- 
horse.  The  noble  and  practised  animal  remained  per¬ 
fectly  still,  save  by  champing  its  bit  restlessly,  and  moving 

its  quick  ear  to  and  fro,  as  aware  of  a  coming  danger, _ _ 

while  the  squire,  unencumbered  by  the  heavy  armor  of 
the  Germans,  plunged  into  the  thicket  and  disappeared. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  19t 

He  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  already  heated  and  breath¬ 
less. 

“We  must  be  on  our  guard,”  he  whispered;  “I  see 
the  glimmer  of  steel  through  the  vine-leaves.” 

“  Our  ground  is  unhappily  chosen,”  said  the  knight, 
hastily  bracing  on  his  helmet  and  leaping  on  his  charger  ; 
and  waving  his  hand  towards  a  broader  space  in  the 
road,  which  would  permit  the  horsemen  more  room  to 
act  in  union,  with  his  small  band  he  made  hastily  to  the 
spot  —  the  armor  of  the  soldiers  rattling  heavily  as  two 
by  two  they  proceeded  on. 

The  space  to  which  the  cavalier  had  pointed  was  a 
green  semi-circle  of  several  yards  in  extent,  backed  by 
tangled  copses  of  brushwood  sloping  down  to  the  vale 
below.  They  reached  it  in  safety  ;  they  drew  up  breast 
to  breast  in  the  form  of  a  crescent :  every  vizor  closed 
save  that  of  the  knight,  who  looked  anxiously  and  keenly 
round  the  landscape. 

“  Hast  thou  heard,  Giulio,”  he  said  to  his  favorite 
squire  (the  only  Italian  of  the  band),  “whether  any 
brigands  have  been  seen  lately  in  these  parts  ?  ” 

“No,  my  lord  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  told  that  every 
lance  hath  left  the  country  to  join  the  Grand  Company 
of  Fra  Moreale.  The  love  of  his  pay  and  plunder  hath 
drawn  away  the  mercenaries  of  every  Tuscan  signor.” 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  the  bugle  sounded  again  from 
nearly  the  same  spot  as  before  :  it  was  answered  by  a 
brief  aud  martial  note  from  the  very  rear  of  the  horse¬ 
men.  At  the  same  moment,  from  the  thickets  behind, 
IT* 


198 


RIENZI, 


broke  the  gleam  of  mail  and  spears.  One  after  another^ 
rank  after  rank,  from  the  copse  behind  them  emerged 
men-at-arms,  while  suddenly,  from  the  vines  in  front, 
still  greater  numbers  ooured  forth  with  loud  and  fierce 
shouts. 

“  For  God,  for  the  Emperor,  and  for  the  Colonna  !  ” 
cried  the  knight,  closing  his  vizor ;  and  the  little  band, 
closely  serried,  the  lance  in  every  rest,  broke  upon  the 
rush  of  the  enemy  in  front.  A  score  or  so,  borne  to  the 
ground  by  the  charge,  cleared  a  path  for  the  horsemen, 
and,  without  waiting  the  assault  of  the  rest,  the  knight 
wheeled  his  charger  and  led.  the  way  down  the  hill,  almost 
at  full  gallop,  despite  the  roughness  of  the  descent :  a 
flight  of  arrows  despatched  after  them  fell  idly  on  their 
iron  mail. 

“  If  thev  have  no  horse,”  cried  the  knight,  “  we  are 
saved  !  ” 

And,  indeed,  the  enemy  seemed  scarcely  to  think  of 
pursuing  them,  but  (gathered  on  the  brow  of  a  hill)  ap¬ 
peared  contented  to  watch  their  flight. 

Suddenly  a  curve  in  the  road  brought  them  before  a 
broad  and  wide  patch  of  waste  land,  which  formed  almost 
a  level  surface,  interrupting  the  descent  of  the  mountain. 
On  the  commencement  of  this  waste,  drawn  up  in  still 
array,  the  sunlight  broke  on  the  breastplates  of  a  long 
line  of  horsemen,  whom  the  sinuosities  of  the  road  had 
hitherto  concealed  from  the  knight  and  his  party. 

The  little  troop  halted  abruptly  —  retreat,  advance, 
alike  cut  off ;  gazing  first  at  the  foe  before  them,  that 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


199 


remained  still  as  a  cloud,  every  eye  was  then  turned 
towards  the  knight. 

“  An’  thou  wouldst,  my  lord,”  said  the  leader  of  the 
Northmen,  perceiving  the  irresolution  of  their  chief,  “we 
will  fight  to  the  last.  You  are  the  only  Italian  I  ever 
knew  whom  I  would  willingly  die  for  I  ” 

This  rude  profession  was  received  with  a  sympathetic 
murmur  from  the  rest,  and  the  soldiers  drew  closer  around 
the  knight.  “  Nay,  my  brave  fellows,”  said  the  Colonna, 
lifting  his  vizor,  “it  is  not  in  so  inglorious  a  field,  after 
such  various  fortunes,  that  we  are  doomed  to  perish.  If 
these  be  brigands,  as  we  mi^gk^uppose,  we  can  yet  pur- 

ir,  we  are 


Give  me 


always  spare  a  flagi^f  truce.  There  is  dsiug^r!/ - ” 

“For  that  reason  '^oj^r  leader  bray^it;:'  Quick!” 
The  knight  took  the  banner,  and"  rode  deliberately  up 


to  the  horsemen.  On  approaching,  his  warlike  eye  could 
not  but  admire  the  perfect  caparison  of  their  arms,  the 
strength  and  beauty  of  their  steeds,  and  the  steady  disci¬ 
pline  of  their  long  and  glittering  line. 

As  he  rode  up,  and  his  gorgeous  banner  gleamed  in 
the  noonlight,  the  soldiers  saluted  him.  It  was  a  good 
omen,  and  he  hailed  it  as  such.  “Fair  sirs,”  said  the 
knight  “  I  come,  at  once  herald  and  leader  of  the  little 
band  who  have  just  escaped  the  unlooked-for  assault  of 
armed  men  on  yonder  hill  —  and  claiming  aid,  as  knight 


200 


RI  E  N  Z  I, 

from  knight,  and  soldier  from  soldier,  I  place  my  troop 
under  the  protection  of  your  leader.  Suffer  me  to  see 
him.” 

“  Sir  knight,”  answered  one,  who  seemed  the  captain 
of  the  band,  “  sorry  am  I  to  detain  one  of  your  gallant 
bearing,  and  still  more  so,  on  recognizing  the  device  of 
one  of  the  most  potent  houses  of  Italy.  But  our  orders 
are  strict,  and  we  must  bring  all  armed  men  to  the  camp 
of  our  general.” 

“Long  absent  from  my  native  land,  I  knew  not,” 
replied  the  knight,  “  that  there  was  war  in  Tuscany. 
Permit  me  to  crave  the  name  of  the  general  whom  you 
speak  of,  and  that  of  the  foe  against  whom  ye  march. 

The  captain  smiled  slightly. 

“Walter  de  Montreal  is  the  general  of  the  Great 
Company,  and  Florence  his  present  foe.” 

“We  have  fallen,  then,  into  friendly,  if  fierce,  hands,” 
replied  the  knight,  after  a  moment’s  pause.  “  To  Sir 
Walter  de  Montreal  I  am  known  of  old.  Permit  me  to 
return  to  my  companions,  and  acquaint  them  that  if 
accident  has  made  us  prisoners,  it  is,  at  least,  only  to  the 
most  skilful  warrior  of  his  day  that  we  are  condemned  to 
yield.” 

The  Italian  then  turned  his  horse  to  join  his  comrades. 

“A  fair  knight  and  a  bold  presence,”  said  the  captain 
of  the  Companions  to  his  neighbor,  “though  I  scarce 
think  it  is  the  party  we  are  ordered  to  intercept.  Praised 
be  the  Yirgin,  however,  his  men  seem  from  the  North. 
Them,  perhaps,  we  may  hope  to  enlist.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


201 


The  knight  now,  with  his  comrades,  rejoined  the  troop. 
And,  on  receiving  their  parole  not  to  attempt  escape,  a 
detachment  of  thirty  horsemen  were  despatched  to  con¬ 
duct  the  prisoners  to  the  encampment  of  the  Great 
Company. 

Turning  from  the  main  road,  the  knight  found  himself 
conducted  into  a  narrow  defile  between  the  hills,  which, 
succeeded  by  a  gloomy  track  of  wild  forest-land,  brought 
the  party  at  length  into  a  full  and  abrupt  view  of  a  wide 
plain,  covered  with  the  tents  of  what,  for  Italian  warfare, 
was  considered  a  mighty  array.  A  stream,  over  which 
rude  and  hasty  bridges  had  been  formed  from  the 
neighboring  timber,  alone  separated  the  horsemen  from 
the  encampment. 

“  A  noble  sight !  ’’  said  the  captive  cavalier,  with 
enthusiasm,  as  he  reined  in  his  steed,  and  gazed  upon  the 
wild  and  warlike  streets  of  canvass,  traversing  each  other 
in  vistas  broad  and  regular. 

One  of  the  captains  of  the  Great  Company  who  rode 
beside  him,  smiled  complacently. 

“  There  are  few  masters  of  the  martial  art  who  equal 
Fra  Moreale,”  said  he ;  “  and  savage,  reckless,  and 
gathered  from  all  parts  and  all  countries  —  from  cavern 
and  from  market-place,  from  prison  and  from  palace,  as 
are  his  troops,  he  has  reduced  them  already  into  a  disci¬ 
pline  which  might  shame  even  the  soldiety  of  the  empire.” 

The  knight  made  no  reply;  but  spurring  his  horse  over 
one  of  the  rugged  bridges,  soon  found  himself  amidst  the 


202 


RIENZI, 


encampment.  But  that  part  at  which  he  entered  little 
merited  the  praises  bestowed  upon  the  discipline  of  the 
army.  A  more  unruly  and  disorderly  array,  the  cavalier, 
accustomed  to  the  stern  regularity  of  English,  French, 
and  German  discipline,  thought  he  had  never  beheld ; 
here  and  there,  fierce,  unshaven,  half-naked  brigands 
might  be  seen,  driving  before  them  the  cattle  which  they 
•  had  just  collected  by  predatory  excursions.  Sometimes  a 
knot  of  dissolute  women  stood  —  chattering,  scolding, 
gesticulating  —  collected  round  groups  of  wild  shagged 
Northmen,  who,  despite  the  bright  purity  of  the  summer- 
noon,  were  already  engaged  in  deep  potations.  Oaths, 
and  laughter,  and  drunken  merriment,  and  fierce  brawl, 
rang  from  side  to  side ;  and  ever  and  anon  some  hasty 
conflict  with  drawn  knives  was  begun  and  finished  by  the 
fiery  and  savage  bravoes  of  Calabria  or  the  Apennines, 
before  the  very  eyes  and  almost  in  the  very  path  of  the 
troop.  Tumblers,  and  monntebanks,  and  jugglers,  and 
Jew  pedlers,  were  exhibiting  their  tricks  or  their  wares 
at  every  interval,  apparently  well  inured  to  the  lawless 
and  turbulent  market  in  which  they  exercised  their  several 
callings.  Despite  the  protection  of  the  horsemen  who 
accompanied  them,  the  prisoners  were  not  allowed  to 
pass  without  molestation.  Groups  of  urchins,  squalid, 
fierce,  and  ragged,  seemed  to  start  from  the  ground,  and 
surrounded  their  horses  like  swarms  of  bees,  uttering  the 
most  discordant  cries ;  and,  with  the  gestures  of  savages, 
rather  demanding  than  beseeching  money,  which,  when 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


203 


granted,  seemed  only  to  render  them  more  insatiable. 
While,  sometimes  mingled  with  the  rest,  were  seen  the 
bright  eyes  and  olive  cheek,  and  half- pleading,  half¬ 
laughing  smiles  of  girls,  whose  extreme  youth,  scarce 
emerged  from  childhood,  rendered  doubly  striking  their 
utter  and  unredeemed  abandonment. 

“You  did  not  exaggerate  the  decorum  of  the  Grand 
Company  !  ”  cried  the  knight,  gravely,  to  his  new  ac¬ 
quaintance. 

“  Signor,”  replied  the  other,  “you  must  not  judge  of 
the  kernel  by  the  shell.  We  are  scarcely  yet  arrived  at 
the  camp.  These  are  the  outskirts,  occupied  rather  by 
the  rabble  than  the  soldiers.  Twenty  thousand  men  from 
the  sink,  it  must  be  owned,  of  every  town  in  Italy,  follow 
the  camp,  to  fight  if  necessary,  but  rather  for  plunder, 
and  for  forage  :  —  such  you  now  behold.  Presently  you 
will  see  those  of  another  stamp.” 

The  knight’s  heart  swelled  high.  “And  to  such  men  is 
Italy  given  up  !  ”  thought  he.  His  reverie  was  broken 
by  a  loud  burst  of  applause  from  some  convivialists  hard 
by.  He  turned,  and  under  a  long  tent,  and  round  a  board 
covered  with  wine  and  viands,  sat  some  thirty  or  forty 
bravoes.  A  ragged  minstrel,  or  jongleur,  with  an  immense 
beard  and  mustauhios,  was  tuning,  with  no  inconsiderable 
skill,  a  lute  which  had  accompanied  him  in  all  his  wan¬ 
derings  —  and  suddenly  changing  its  notes  into  a  wild 
and  warlike  melody,  he  commenced  in  a  loud  and  deep  ^ 
voice  the  following  song  ;  — 


204 


RI  EN  ZI, 


THE  PRAISE  OF  THE  GRAND  COMPANY. 


I. 

“Ho,  dark  one  from  the  golden  South  — 

Ho,  fair  one  from  the  North; 

Ho,  coat  of  mail  and  spear  of  sheen  — 

Ho,  wherefore  ride  ye  forth? 

‘We  come  from  mount,  we  come  from  cave. 
We  come  across  the  sea. 

In  long  array,  in  bright  array, 

To  Montreal’s  Companie.’ 

Oh,  the  merry,  merry  band. 

Light  heart,  and  heavy  hand  — 

Oh,  the  Lances  of  the  Free  I 


II. 

Ho,  Princes  of  the  castled  height  — 

Ho,  Burghers  of  the  town; 

Apulia’s  strength,  Romagna’s  pride. 

And  Tusca’s  old  renown! 

‘  Why  quail  ye  thus  ?  why  pale  ye  thus  ? 

What  spectre  do  ye  see  ? 

The  blood-red  flag,  and  trampling  march, 
Of  Montreal’s  Companie. ’ 

Oh,  the  sunshine  of  your  life  — 
Oh,  the  thunders  of  your  strife! 
Wild  Lances  of  the  Free ! 

III. 

Ho,  scutcheons  o’er  the  vaulted  tomb 
Where  Norman  valor  sleeps, 

Why  shake  ye  so?  why  quake  ye  so? 

What  wind  the  trophy  sweeps  ? 

‘We  shake  without  a  breath  —  below, 

The  dead  are  stirred  to  see. 

The  Norman’s  fame  revived  again 
In  Montreal’s  Companib.’ 

Since  Roger  won  his  crown, 

Who  hath  equalled  your  renown, 
Brave  Lances  of  the  Free? 


205 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 

IV. 

Ho,  ye  who  seek  to  win  a  name 

Where  deeds  are  bravest  done  — 

Ho,  ye  who  wish  to  pile  a  heap, 

Where  gold  is  lightest  won; 

Ho,  ye  who  loathe  the  stagnant  life. 

Or  shun  the  law’s  decree, 

Belt  on  the  brand,  and  spur  the  steed, 

To  Montreal’s  Compani^. 

And  the  maid  shall  share  her  rest, 

And  the  miser  share  his  chest. 

With  the  Lances  of  the  Free! 

The  Free! 

The  Free! 

Oh!  the  Lances  of  the  Free!” 

Then  suddenly,  as  if  inspired  to  a  wilder  flight  by  his 
own  minstrelsy,  the  jongleur,  sweeping  his  hand  over  the 
chords,  broke  forth  into  an  air  admirably  expressive  of 
the  picture  which  his  words,  running  into  a  rude,  but 
lively  and  stirring  doggrel,  attempted  to  paint. 

THE  MARCH  OF  THE  GRAND  COMPANY. 

“  Tir^,  tirala  —  trumpet  and  drum 
Rising  bright  o’er  the  height  of  the  mountain  they  come ! 
German,  and  Hun,  and  the  Islandrie, 

Who  routed  the  Frenchman  at  famed  Cressife, 

When  the  rose  changed  its  hue  with  the  fleur-de-lis  ^ 

With  the  Roman,  and  Lombard,  and  Piedmontese, 

And  the  dark-haired  son  of  the  southern  seas. 

Tir^,  trrala  —  more  near  and  near 

Down  the  steep  —  see  them  sweep; — rank  by  rank  they  appear! 
With  the  Cloud  of  the  Crowd  hanging  dark  at  their  rear  — 
Serried,  and  steadied,  and  orderli^, 

Like  the  course  —  like  the  force  —  of  a  marching  sea! 

Open  your  gates,  and  out  with  your  gold. 

For  the  blood  must  be  spilt,  or  the  ransom  be  told! 

IL  — 18 


206 


RIEN  ZI, 


Woe,  Burghers,  woe!  Behold  them  led 
By  the  stoutest  arm  and  the  wisest  head, 

With  the  snow-white  cross  on  the  cloth  of  red ;  — 

With  the  eagle  eye,  and  the  lion  port. 

His  barb  for  a  throne,  and  his  camp  for  a  court ; 

Sovereign  and  scourge  of  the  land  is  he  — 

The  kingly  Knight  of  the  Companih! 

Hurrah  —  hurrah  —  hurrah  ! 

Hurrah  for  the  army  —  hurrah  for  its  lord  — 

Hurrah  for  the  gold  that  is  got  by  the  sword — 

Hurrah  —  hurrah  —  hurrah  I 

For  the  Lances  of  the  Free !  ” 

Shouted  by  the  full  chorus  of  those  desperate  boon-com¬ 
panions,  and  caught  up  and  re-echoed  from  side  to  side, 
near  and  far,  as  the  familiar  and  well-known  words  of  the 
burthen  reached  the  ears  of  more  distant  groups  or 
stragglers,  the  elfect  of  this  fierce  and  licentious 
minstrelsy  was  indescribable.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
feel  the  zest  which  that  daring  life  imparted  to  its  daring 
followers,  and  even  the  gallant  and  stately  knight  who 
listened  to  it  reproved  himself  for  an  involuntary  thrill 
of  sympathy  and  pleasure. 

He  turned  with  some  impatience  and  irritation  to  his 
companion,  who  had  taken  a  part  in  the  chorus,  and 
said,  “  Sir,  to  the  ears  of  an  Italian  noble,  conscious  of 
the  miseries  of  his  country,  this  ditty  is  not  welcome.  I 
pray  you,  let  us  proceed.” 

“I  humbly  crave  your  pardon,  signor,”  said  the  Free 
Companion  ;  “  but  really  so  attractive  is  the  life  led  by 
Free  Lances,  under  Fra  Moreale,  that  sometimes  wo 
forget  the - ;  but  pardon  me  —  we  will  on.” 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


20t 


A  few  moments  more,  and  bounding  over  a  narrow 
circumvallation,  the  party  found  themselves  in  a  quarter, 
animated  indeed,  but  of  a  wholly  different  character  of 
animation.  Long  lines  of  armed  men  were  drawn  up  on 
either  side  of  a  path,  conducting  to  a  large  marquee 
placed  upon  a  little  hillock,  surmounted  by  a  blue  flag, 
and  up  this  path  armed  soldiers  were  passiug  to  and  fro 
with  great  order,  but  with  a  pleased  and  complacent  ^ 
expression  upon  their  swarthy  features.  Some  that  re¬ 
paired  to  the  marquee  were  bearing  packets  and  bales 
upon  their  shoulders  —  those  that  returned  seemed  to 
have  got  rid  of  their  burthens,  but  every  now  and  then 
impatiently  opening  their  hands,  appeared  counting  and 
recounting  to  themselves  the  coins  contained  therein. 

The  knight  looked  inquiringly  at  his' companion. 

“It  is  the  marquee  of  the  merchants,”  said  the  captain  ; 

“  they  have  free  admission  to  the  camp,  and  their  property 
and  persons  are  rigidly  respected.  They  purchase  each 
soldier’s  share  of  the  plunder  at  fair  prices,  and  either 
party  is  contented  with  the  bargain.” 

“  It  seems,  then,  that  there  is  some  kind  of  rude 
justice  observed  amongst  you,”  said  the  knight. 

“Rude  I  Biamlo!  Not  a  town  in  Italy  but  would  be 
glad  of  such  even  justice,  and  such  impartial  laws. 
Yonder  lie  the  tents  of  the  judges,  appointed  to  try  all 
offences  of  soldier  against  soldier.  To  the  right,  the 
tent  with  the  golden  ball  contains  the  treasurer  of  the 
army.  Fra  Moreale  incurs  no  arrears  with  his  soldiery.” 


208 


RIE  N  ZI, 


It  was,  indeed,  by  these  means  that  the  Knight  of  St 
John  had  collected  the  best  equipped  and  the  best  con¬ 
tented  force  in  Italy.  Every  day  brought  him  recruits. 
Nothing  was  spoken,  of  amongst  the  mercenaries  of  Italy 
but  the  wealth  acquired  in  his  service,  and  every  warrior 
in  the  pay  of  republic  or  of  tyrant  sighed  for  the  lawless 
standard  of  Fra  Moreale.  Already  had  exaggerated  tales 
of  the  fortunes  to  be  made  in  the  ranks  of  the  Grreat  Com¬ 
pany  passed  the  Alps;  and,  even  now,  the  knight, 
penetrating  farther  into  the  camp,  beheld  from  many  a 
tent  the  proud  banners  and  armorial  blazon  of  German 
nobility  and  Gallic  knighthood. 

“You  see,”  said  the  Free  Companion,  pointing  to 
these  insignia,  “we  are  not  without  our  different  ranks 
in  our  wild  city.  And  while  we  speak,  many  a  golden 
spur  is  speeding  hitherward  from  the  North  !  ” 

All  now  in  the  quarter  they  had  entered  was  still  and 
solemn  ;  only  afar  came  the  mingled  hum,  or  the  sudden 
shout  of  the  pandemonium  in  the  rear,  mellowed  by  dis¬ 
tance  to  a  not  unpleasing  sound.  An  occasional  soldier, 
crossing  their  path,  stalked  silently  and  stealthily  to  some 
neighboring  tent,  and  seemed  scarcely  to  regard  their 
approach.  ^ 

“Behold  I  we  are  before  the  general’s  pavilion,”  said 
the  Free  Lance. 

Blazoned  with  purple  and  gold,  the  tent  of  Montreal 
lay  a  little  apart  from  the  rest.  A  brooklet  from  the 
stream  they  had  crossed  murmured  gratefully  on  the  ear. 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


209 


and  a  tall  and  wide-spreading  beech  cast  its  shadow  over 
the  gorgeous  canvass. 

While  his  troop  waited  without,  the  knight  was  con¬ 
ducted  at  once  to  the  presence  of  the  formidable  ad¬ 
venturer. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Adrian  once  more  the  guest  of  Montreal. 

Montreal  was  sitting  at  the  head  of  a  table,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  men,  some  military,  some  civil,  whom  he 
called  his  councillors,  and  with  whom  he  ■  apparently  de¬ 
bated  all  his  projects.  These  men,  drawn  from  various 
cities,  were  intimately  acquainted  with  the  internal  affairs 
of  the  several  states  to  which  they  belonged.  They  could 
tell  to  a  fraction  the  force  of  a  signor,  the  wealth  of  a 
merchant,  the  power  of  a  mob.  And  thus,  in  his  lawless 
camp,  Montreal  presided,  not  more  as  a  general  than  a 
statesman.  Such  knowledge  was  invaluable  to  the  chief 
of  the  Great  Company.  It  enabled  him  to  calculate  ex¬ 
actly  the  time  to  attack  a  foe,  and  the  sum  to  demand 
for  a  suppression  of  hostilities.  He  knew  what  parties 
to  deal  with  —  where  to  importune  —  where  to  forbear. 
And  it  usually  happened  that,  by  some  secret  intrigue, 
the  appearance  of  Montreal’s  banner  before  the  walls  of 
a  city  was  the  signal  for  some  sedition  or  some  broil 
18* 


o 


210 


RI  E  N  Z  I, 


within.  It  may  be  that  he  thus  also  promoted  an 
ulterior,  as  well  as  his  present,  policy. 

The  divan  were  in  full  consultation  when  an  officer 
entered,  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  Montreal’s  ear. 
His  eyes  brightened.  “Admit  him,”  he  said  hastily. 
“  Messires,”  he  added  to  his  councillors,  rubbing  his 
hands,  “I  think  our  net  has  caught  our  bird.  Let  us  see.” 

At  this  moment  the  drapery  was  lifted  and  the  knight 
admitted. 

“  How  !  ”  muttered  Montreal,  changing  color,  and  in 
.evident  disappointment.  “  Am  I  to  be  ever  thus  balked  ?  ” 

“  Sir  Walter  de  Montreal,”  said  the  prisoner,  “I  am 
once  more  your  guest.  In  these  altered  features  you 
perhaps  scarcely  recognize  Adrian  di  Gastello.” 

“Pardon  me,  noble  signor,”  said  Montreal,  rising  with 
great  courtesy  ;  “the  mistake  of  my  varlets  disturbed  my 
recollection  for  a  moment,  —  I  rejoice  once  more  to  press 
a  hand  that  has  won  so  many  laurels  since  last  we 
parted.  Your  renown  has  been  grateful  to  my  ears. 
Ho  !”  continued  the  chieftain,  clapping  his  hands,  “see 
to  the  refreshment  and  repose  of  this  noble  cavalier  and 
his  attendants.  Lord  Adrian,  I  will  join  you  presently.” 

Adrian  withdrew^  Montreal,  forgetful  of  his  council¬ 
lors,  traversed  his  tent  wdth  hasty  strides  ;  then  summon¬ 
ing  the  officer  who  had  admitted  Adrian,  he  said,  “  Count 
Landau  still  keeps  the  pass  ?  ” 

“Yes,  general!” 

“  Hie  thee  fast  back,  then  —  the  ambuscade  must  tarry 
till  nightfall.  We  have  trapped  the  wrong  fox.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


211 


The  officer  departed,  and  shortly  afterwards  Montreal 
broke  up  the  divan.  He  sought  Adrian,  who  was  lodged 
in  a  tent  beside  his  own. 

“  My  lord,”  said  Montreal,  it  is  true  that  my  men  had 
orders  to  stop  every  one  on  the  roads  towards  Florence. 
I  am  at  war  with  that  city.  Yet  I  expected  a  very 
different  prisoner  from  you.  JSTeed  I  add,  that  you  and 
your  men  are  free  ?  ” 

accept  the  courtesy,  noble  Montreal,  as  frankly  as 
it  is  rendered.  May  I  hope  hereafter  to  repay  it ! 
Meanwhile  permit  me,  without  any  disrespect,  to  say 
that  had  I  learned  the  Grand  Company  was  in  this 
direction,  I  should  have  altered  my  course.  I  had  heard 
that  your  arms  were  bent  (somewhat  to  my  mind  more 
nobly)  against  Malatesta,  the  tyrant  of  Himini !  ” 

“  They  were  so.  He  was  my  foe  ;  he  is  my  tributary. 
We  conquered  him.  He  paid  us  the  price  of  his  liberty. 
We  marched  by  Asciano  upon  Sienna.  For  sixteen 
thousand  florins  we  spared  that  city  ;  and  we  now  hang 
like  a  thunderbolt  over  Florence,  which  dared  to  send  her 
puny  aid  to  the  defence  of  Rimini.  Our  marches  are 
forced  and  rapid,  and  our  camp  in  this  plain  but  just 
pitched.” 

“I  hear  that  the  Grand  Company  is  allied  with  Albor- 
noz,  and  that  its  general  is  secretly  the  soldier  of  the 
Church.  Is  it  so  ?  ” 

“Ay  —  Aibornoz  and  I  understand  one  another,” 
replied  Montreal,  carelessly ;  “  and  not  the  less  so  that 


212 


RIENZI, 


we  have  a  mutual  foe,  whom  both  are  sworn  to  crush,  in 
Yisconti,  the  Archbishop  of  Milan  ” 

“  Yisconti  I  the  most  potent  of  the  Italian  princes. 
That  he  has  justly  incurred  the  wrath  of  the  Church  I 
know  —  and  I  can  readily  understand  that  Innocent  has 
revoked  the  pardon  which  the  intrigues  of  the  archbishop 
purchased  from  Clement  YI.  But  I  do  not  see  clearly 
why  Montreal  should  willingly  provoke  so  dark  and 
terrible  a  foe.’’ 

Montreal  smiled  sternly.  “  Know  you  not,”  he  said, 
“the  vast  ambition  of  that  Yisconti?  By  the  holy 
sepulchre,  he  is  precisely  the  enemy  my  soul  leaps  to 
meet  I  He  has  a  genius  worthy  to  cope  with  Montreal’s. 
I  have  made  myself  master  of  his  secret  plans  —  they  are 
gigantic  !  In  a  word,  the  archbishop  designs  the  conquest 
of  all  Italy.  His  enormous  wealth  purchases  the  corrupt 
■ — his  dark  sagacity  ensnares  the  credulous — ^^his  daring 
valor  awes  the  weak.  Every  enemy  he  humbles  —  every 
ally  he  enslaves.  This  is  precisely  the  prince  whose  pro¬ 
gress  Walter  de  Montreal  must  arrest.  For  this  [he  said 
in  a  whisper  as  to  himself]  is  precisely  the  prince  who, 
if  suffered  to  extend  his  power,  will  frustrate  the  plans 
and  break  the  force  of  Walter  de  Montreal.” 

Adrian  was  silent,  and  for 'the  first  time  a  suspicion 
of  the  real  nature  of  the  Provem^al’s  design  crossed  his 
breast. 

“But,  noble  Montreal,”  resumed  the  Colonna,  “give 
me,  if  your  knowledge  serves,  as  no  doubt  it  does,  — 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


213 


give  me  the  latest  tidings  of  my  native  city,  I  am  a 
Roman,  and  Rome  is  ever  in  my  thoughts.” 

“  And  well  she  may,”  replied  Montreal,  quickly. 
“Thou  knowest  that  Albornoz,  as  legate  of  the  pontiff, 
led  the  army  of  the  Church  into  the  papal  territories. 
He  took  with  him  Cola  di  Rienzi.  Arrived  at  Monte 
Fiascone,  crowds  of  Romans  of  all  ranks  hastened  thither 
to  render  homage  to  the  Tribune.  The  legate  was  for¬ 
gotten  in  the  popularity  of  his  companion.  Whether  or 
not  Albornoz  grew  jealous  —  for  he  is  proud  as  Lucifer 
—  of  the  respect  paid  to  the  Tribune,  or  whether  he 
feared  the  restoration  of  his  power,  I  cannot  tell.  But 
he  detained  him  in  his  camp,  and  refused  to  yield  him  to 
all  the  solicitations  and  all  the  deputations  of  the 
Romans.  Artfully,  however,  he  fulfilled  one  of  the  real 
objects  of  Rienzi’s  release.  Through  his  means  he 
formally  regained  the  allegiance  of  Rome  to  the  Church* 
and  by  the  attraction  of  his  presence  swelled  his  camp 
with  Roman  recruits.  Marching  to  Yiterbo,  Rienzi  dis¬ 
tinguished  himself  greatly  in  deeds  of  arms  against  the 
tyrant*  John  di  Yico.  Nay,  he  fought  as  one  worthy 
of  belonging  to  the  Grand  Company.  This  increased 
the  zeal  of  the  Romans  ;  and  the  city  disgorged  half  its 
inhabitants  to  attend  the  person  of  the  bold  Tribune. 
To  the  entreaties  of  these  worthy  citizens  (perhaps  the 
very  men  who  had  before  shut  up  their  darling  in  St. 
Angelo)  the  crafty  legate  merely  replied,  ‘  Arm  against 
John  di  Yico  —  conquer  the  tyrants  of  the  territory — ■ 


*  “  Vit.  di  Col.  di  Rienzi.” 


214 


R I  E  N  Z  I , 


re-establish  the  patrimony  of  St.  Peter,  and  Rienzi  shall 
then  be  proclaimed  senator,  and  return  to  Rome.’ 

“  These  words  inspired  the  Romans  with  so  great  a 
zeal,  that  they  willingly  lent  their  aid  to  the  legate. 
Aquapendente,  Bolzena  yielded,  John  di  Yico  was  half 
reduced  and  half  terrified  into  submission,  and  Gabrielli, 
the  tyrant  of  Agobbio,  has  since  succumbed.  The  glory 
is  to  the  cardinal,  but  the  merit  with  Rienzi.” 

“And  now  ?  ” 

“Albornoz  continued  to  entertain  the  Senator-Tribune 
with  great  splendor  and  fair  words,  but  not  a  word  about 
restoring  him  to  Rome.  Wearied  with  this  suspense,  I 
have  learned  by  secret  intelligence  that  Rienzi  has  left 
the  camp,  and  betaken  himself  with  few  attendants  to 
Florence,  where  he  has  friends,  who  will  provide  him 
with  arms  and  money  to  enter  Rome.” 

“Ah  then  I  now  I  guess,”  said  Adrian,  with  a  half¬ 
smile,  “for  whom  I  was  mistaken!” 

Montreal  blushed  slightly.  “  Fairly  conjectured  !  ” 
said  he. 

“Meanwhile,  at  Rome,”  continued  the  Provencal  — 
“  at  Rome,  your  worthy  house,  and  that  of  the  Orsini, 
being  elected  to  the  supreme  powmr,  quarrelled  among 
themselves,  and  could  not  keep  the  authority  they  had 
won.  Francesco  Baroncelli,  *  a  new  demagogue,  a 

*  This  Baroncelli,  who  has  been  introduced  to  the  reader  in  a 
former  portion  of  this  work,  is  called  by  Matteo  Villani  “a  man 
of  vile  birth  and  little  learning  —  he  had  been  a  notary  of  the 
Capitol.” 


THE  LAST  OE  THE  TRIBUNES. 


215 


humble  imitator  of  Rienzi,  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
peace  broken  by  the  nobles,  obtained  the  title  of  Tribune, 
and  carried  about  the  very  insignia  used  by  his  prede¬ 
cessor.  But  less  wise  than  Rienzi,  he  took  the  anti-papal 
party.  And  the  legate  was  thus  enabled  to  play  the 
papal  demagogue  against  the  usurper.  Baroncelli  was 
a  weak  man,  his  sons  committed  every  excess  in  mimicry 
of  the  high-born  tyrants  of  Padua  and  Milan.  Virgins 
violated  and  matrons  dishonored,  somewhat  contrasted 
the  solemn  and  majestic  decorum  of  Rienzi’s  rule ;  —  in 
fine,  Baroncelli  fell  massacred  by  the  people.  And  now, 
if  you  ask  what  rules  Rome,  I  answer,  ‘  It  is  the  hope  of 
Rienzi.^’ 


In  the  midst  of  the  armed  dissensions  between  the  barons  which 
followed  the  expulsion  of  Rienzi,  Baroncelli  contrived  to  make 
himself  master  of  the  Capitol,  and  of  what  was  considered  an 
auxiliary  of  no  common  importance  —  viz.,  the  Great  Bell,  by 
whose  alarum  Rienzi  had  so  often  summoned  to  arms  the  Roman 
people.  Baroncelli  was  crowned  tribune,  clothed  in  a  robe  of  gold 
brocade,  and  invested  with  the  crozier-sceptre  of  Rienzi.  At  first, 
his  cruelty  against  the  great  took  the  appearance  of  protection  to 
the  humble;  but  the  excesses  of  his  sons  (not  exaggerated  in  the 
text),  and  his  own  brutal  but  bold  ferocity,  soon  made  him  exe¬ 
crated  by  the  people,  to  whom  he  owed  his  elevation.  He  had  the 
folly  to  declare  against  the  pope  ;  and  this  it  really  was  that  mainly 
induced  Innocent  to  restore,  and  oppose  to  their  new  demagogue 
the  former  and  more  illustrious  Tribune.  Baroncelli,  like  Rienzi, 
was  excommunicated  ;  and  in  his  instance,  also,  the  curse  of  the 
Church  was  the  immediate  cause  of  his  downfall.  In  attempting 
flight  he  was  massacred  by  the  mob,  December,  1353.  Some,  how¬ 
ever,  have  maintained  that  he  was  slain  in  combat  with  Rienzi ; 
and  others,  by  a  confusion  of  dates,  have  made  him  succeed  to 
Rienzi  on  the  death  of  the  latter.  — Matteo  Villani.  lib.  iii.  cap.  78  ; 
Osservaz.  Stor.  di  Zefirino  Re,  MS.  Vat.  Rip.  dal  Bzovio,  ann.  1353, 
N.  2. 


216 


RIENZI, 


‘‘A  strange  man,  and  various  fortunes.  What  will  be 
the  end  of  both  ?  ” 

“  Swift  murder  to  the  first,  and  eternal  fame  to  the 
last,”  answered  Montreal,  calmly.  “  Rienzi  will  be  re¬ 
stored  ;  that  brave  phoenix  will  win  its  way  througli 
storm  and  cloud  to  its  own  funeral  pyre  :  —  I  foresee,  I 
compassionate,  I  admire.  And  then,”  added  Montreal, 
“I  look  beyond!’’' 

“  But  wherefore  feel  you  so  certain  that,  if  restored, 
Rienzi  must  fall  ?  ” 

“  Is  it  not  clear  to  every  eye,  save  his,  whom  ambition 
blinds  ?  How  can  mortal  genius,  however  great,  rule 
that  most  depraved  people  by  popular  means  ?  The 
barons  (you  know  their  indomitable  ferocity)  —  wedded 
to  abuse,  and  loathing  every  semblance  to  law  —  the 
barons,  humbled  for  a  moment,  will  watch  their  occasion, 
and  rise.  The  people  will  again  desert.  Or  else,  grown 
wise  in  one  respect  by  experience,  the  new  senator  will 
see  that  popular  favor  has  a  loud  voice,  but  a  recreant 
arm.  He  will,  like  the  barons,  surround  himself  by 
foreign  swords.  A  detachment  from  the  Grand  Com¬ 
pany  will  be  his  courtiers ;  they  will  be  his  masters  !  To 
pay  them  the  .people  must  be  taxed.  Then  the  idol  is 
execrated.  No  Italian  hand  can  govern  these  hardy 
demons  of  the  north  ;  they  will  mutiny  and  fall  away. 
A  new  demagogue  will  lead  on  the  people,  and  Rienzi 
will  be  the  victim.  Mark  my  prophecy  !  ” 

“And  then  the  ^beyond’  to  which  you  look?” 

“  Utter  prostration  of  Rome,  for  new  and  long  ages  ; 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


217 


God  makes  not  two  Rienzis  ;  or,”  said  Montreal,  proudly, 
“  the  infusion  of  a  new  life  into  the  worn-out  and  diseased 
frame, — the  foundation  of  a  new  dynasty,  Yerily,  when 
I  look  around  me,  I  believe  that  the  Ruler  of  nations 
designs  the  restoration  of  the  South  by  the  irruptions  of 
the  North;  and  that  out  of  the  old  Franc  and  Ger¬ 
manic  race  will  be  built  up  the  thrones  of  the  future 
world  !  ” 

As  Montreal  thus  spoke,  leaning  on  his  great  war- 
sword,  with  his  fair  and  heroic  features — so  different,  in 
their  frank,  bold,  fearless  expression,  from  the  dark  and 
wily  intellect  that  characterizes  the  lineaments  of  the 
South — eloquent  at  once  with  enthusiasm  and  thought — 
he  might  have  seemed  no  unfitting  representative  of  the 
genius  of  that  northern  chivalry  of  which  he  spake. 
And  Adrian  half  fancied  that  he  saw  before  him  one  of 
the  old  Gothic  scourges  of  the  Western  World. 

Their  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet,  and  presently  an  officer  entering,  announced 
the  arrival  of  ambassadors  from  Florence. 

“Again  you  must  pardon  me,  noble  Adrian,”  said 
Montreal,  “  and  let  me  claim  you  as  my  guest  at  least  for 
to-night.  Here  you  may  rest  secure,  and  on  parting,  my 
men  shall  attend  you  to  the  frontiers  of  whatsoever  terri¬ 
tory  you  design  to  visit.” 

Adrian,  not  sorry  to  see  more  of  a  man  so  celebrated, 
accepted  the  invitation. 

Left  alone,  he  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  ancl  soon 
became  lost  in  his  reflections. 

IT.  — 19 


218 


ElENZI, 


CHAPTER  III. 

Faithful  and  ill-fated  Love. — The  aspirations  survive  the  affections. 

Since  that  fearful  hour  in  whicn  Adrian  Colonna  had 
gazed  upon  the  lifeless  form  of  his  adored  Irene,  the 
young  Roman  had  undergone  the  usual  vicissitudes  of  a 
wandering  and  adventurous  life  in  those  exciting  times. 
His  country  seemed  no  longer  dear  to  him.  His  very 
rank  precluded  him  from  the  post  he  once  aspired  to  take 
in  restoring  the  liberties  of  Rome ;  and  he  felt  that  if 

ever  such  a  revolution  could  be  consummated,  it  was 

« 

reserved  for  one  in  whose  birth  and  habits  the  people 
could  feel  sympathy  and  kindred,  and  who  could  lift  his 
hand  in  their  behalf  without  becoming  the  apostate  of 
his  order  and  the  judge  of  his  own  house.  He  had 
travelled  through  various  courts,  and  served  with  renown 
in  various  fields.  Beloved  and  honored  wheresoever  he 
fixed  a  temporary  home,  no  change  of  scene  had  removed 
his  melancholy — no  new  ties  had  chased  away  the  memory 
of  the  lost.  In  that  era  of  passionate  and  poetical 
romance,  which  Petrarch  represented  rather  than  created. 
Love  had  already  begun  to  assume  a  more  tender  and 
sacred  character  than  it  had  hitherto  known  ;  it  had 
gradually  imbibed  the  divine  spirit  which  it  derives  from 
Christianity,  and  which  associates  its  sorrows  on  earth 


THE  LAST  or  THE  TRIBUNES. 


219 


with  the  visions  and  hopes  of  heaven.  To  him  who  relies 
upon  immortality,  fidelity  to  the  dead  is  easy ;  because 
death  cannot  extinguish  hope,  and  the  soul  of  the  mourner 
is  already  half  in  the  world  to  come.  It  is  an  age  that 
desponds  of  a  future  life  —  representing  death  as  an 
eternal  separation  —  in  which,  if  men  grieve  awhile  for 
the  dead,  they  hasten  to  reconcile  themselves  to  the 
living.  For  true  is  the  old  aphorism,  that  love  exists  not 
without  hope.  And  all  that  romantic  worship  which  the 
Hermit  of  Yaucluse  felt  or  feigned  for  Laura,  found  its 
temple  in  the  desolate  heart  of  Adrian  Colonna.  He 
was  emphatically  the  lover  of  Ms  time!  Often  as,  in 
his  pilgrimage  from  land  to  land,  he  passed  the  walls  of 
some  quiet  and  lonely  convent,  he  seriously  meditated  the 
solemn  vows,  and  internally  resolved  that  the  cloister 
should  receive  his  maturer  age.  The  absence  of  years 
had,  however,  in  some  degree  restored  the  dimmed  and 
shattered  affection  for  his  fatherland,  and  he  desired  once 
more  to  visit  the  city  in  which  he  had  first  beheld  Irene. 
“Perhaps,”  he  thought,  “time  may  have  wrought  some 
unlooked-for  change  ;  and  I  may  yet  assist  to  restore  my 
country.” 

But  with  this  lingering  patriotism  no  ambition  was 
mingled.  In  that  heated  stage  of  action,  in  which  the 
desire  of  power  seemed  to  stir  through  every  breast,  and 
Italy  had  become  the  El  Dorado  of  wealth,  or  the  Utopia 
of  empire,  to  thousands  of  valiant  arms  and  plotting 
minds,  there  was  at  least  one  breast  that  felt  the  true 
philosophy  of  the  Hermit.  Adrian’s  nature,  though  gallant 


220 


RIENZI, 


and  masculine,  was  singularly  imbued  with  that  elegance 
of  temperament  which  recoils  from  rude  contact,  and  to 
which  a  lettered  and  cultivated  indolence  is  the  supremest 
luxury.  His  education,  his  experience,  and  his  intellect, 
had  placed  him  far  in  advance  of  his  age,  and  he  looked 
with  a  high  contempt  on  the  coarse  villanies  and  base 
tricks  by  which  Italian  ambition  sought  its  road  to  power. 
The  rise  and  fall  of  Rienzi,  who,  whatever  his  failings, 
was  at  least  the  purest  and  most  honorable  of  the  self- 
raised  princes  of  the  age,  had  conspired  to  make  him 
despond  of  the  success  of  noble,  as  he  recoiled  from  that 
of  selfish  aspirations.  And  the  dreamy  melancholy  which 
resulted  from  his  ill-starred  love,  yet  more  tended  to 
wean  him  from  the  stale  and  hackneyed  pursuits  of  the 
world.  His  character  was  full  of  beauty  and  of  poetry 

—  not  the  less  so  in  that  it  found  not  a  vent  for  its  emo¬ 
tions  in  the  actual  occupation  of  the  poet  I  Pent  within, 
those  emotions  diffused  themselves  over  all  his  thoughts 
and  colored  his  whole  soul.  Sometimes,  in  the  blessed 
abstraction  of  his  visions,  he  pictured  to  himself  the  lot 
he  might  have  chosen  had  Irene  lived,  and  fate  united 
them  —  far  from  the  turbulent  and  vulgar  roar  of  Rome 

—  but  amidst  some  yet  unpolluted  solitude  of  the  bright 
Italian  soil.  Before  his  eye  there  rose  the  lovely  land¬ 
scape — the  palace  by  the  borders  of  the  waveless  lake  — 
the  vineyards  in  the  valley  —  the  dark  forests  waving  from 
the  hill — and  that  home,  the  resort  and  refuge  of  all  the 
minstrelsy  and  love  of  Italy,  brightened  by  the  “  Lam- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


221 


peggiar  dell’  angelico  riso,”*  that  makes  a  paradise  in 
the  face  we  love.  Often,  seduced  by  such  dreams  to  com¬ 
plete  oblivion  of  his  loss,  the  young  wanderer  started  from 
the  ideal  bliss,  to  behold  around  him  the  solitary  waste 
of  way  —  or  the  moonlit  tents  of  war  —  or,  worse  than  all, 
the  crowds  and  revels  of  a  foreign  court. 

Whether  or  not  such  fancies  now,  for  a  moment,  allured 
his  meditations,  conjured  up,  perhaps,  by  the  name  of 
Irene’s  brother,  which  never  sounded  in  his  ears  but  to 
awaken  ten  thousand  associations,  the  Colonna  remained 
thoughtful  and  absorbed,  until  he  was  disturbed  by  his 
own  squire,  who,  accompanied  by  Montreal’s  servitors, 
ushered  in  his  solitary  but  ample  repast.  Flasks  of  the 
richest  Florentine  wines — -viands  prepared  with  all  the 
art  which,  alas,  Italy  has  now  lost!  —  goblets  and  salvers 
of  gold  and  silver,  prodigally  wrought  with  barbaric 
gems  —  attested  the  princely  luxury  which  reigned  in  the 
camp  of  the  Grand  Company.  But  Adrian  saw  in  all 
only  the  spoliation  of  his  degraded  country,  and  felt  the 
splendor  almost  as  an  insult.  His  lonely  meal  soon  con¬ 
cluded,  he  became  impatient  of  the  monotony  of  his  tent; 
and,  tempted  by  the  cool  air  of  the  descending  eve,  saun¬ 
tered  carelessly  forth.  He  bent  his  steps  by  the  side  of 
the  brooklet  that  curved,  snake-like  and  sparkling,  by 
Montreal’s  tent ;  and  finding  a  spot  somewhat  solitary 
and  apart  from  the  warlike  tenements  around,  flung  him¬ 
self  by  the  margin  of  the  stream. 


*  The  splendor  of  the  angel  smile.  — Petrarch. 

19* 


222 


RIENZI, 


The  last  rays  of  the  sun  quivered  on  the  wave  that 
danced  musically  over  its  stony  bed  ;  and  amidst  a  little 
copse  on  the  opposite  bank  broke  the  brief  and  momentary 
song  of  such  of  the  bolder  habitants  of  that  purple  air  as 
the  din  of  the  camp  had  not  scared  from  their  green  re¬ 
treat.  The  clouds  lay  motionless  to  the  west,  in  that 
sky  so  darkly  and  intensely  blue,  never  seen  but  over  the 
landscapes  that  a  Claude  or  a  Rosa  loved  to  paint :  and 
dim  and  delicious  rose-hues  gathered  over  the  grey  peaks 
of  the  distant  Apennines.  From  afar  floated  the  hum 
of  the  camp,  broken  by  the  neigh  of  returning  steeds ; 
the  blast  of  an  occasional  bugle  ;  and,  at  regular  inter¬ 
vals,  by  the  armed  tramp  of  the  neighboring  sentry. 
And  opposite  to  the  left  of  the  copse  —  upon  arising 
ground,  matted  with  reeds,  moss,  and  waving  shrubs  — 
were  the  ruins  of  some  old  Etruscan  building,  whose 
name  had  perished,  whose  very  uses  were  unknown. 

The  scene  was  so  calm  and  lovely,  as  Adrian  gazed 
upon  it,  that  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  imagine  it  at 
that  very  hour  the  haunt  of  fierce  and  banded  robbers, 
among  most  of  whom  the  very  soul  of  man  was  embruted, 
and  to  all  of  whom  murder  or  rapine  made  the  habitual 
occupation  of  life. 

Still  buried  in  his  reveries,  and  carelessly  dropping 
stones  into  the  noisy  rivulet,  Adrian  was  aroused  by  the 
sound  of  steps. 

“  A  fair  spot  to  listen  to  the  lute  and  the  ballads  of 
Provence,”  said  the  voice  of  Montreal,  as  the  Knight  of 
St.  John  threw  himself  on  the  turf  beside  the  young 
Colonna. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


223 


“You  retain,  then,  your  ancient  love  of  your  national 
melodies,”  said  Adrian. 

“Ay,  I  have  not  yet  survived  all  my  youth,”  answered 
Montreal,  with  a  slight  sigh.  “  But  somehow  or  other, 
the  strains  that  once  pleased  my  fancy  now  go  too  directly 
to  my  heart.  So,  though  I  still  welcome  jongleur  and 
minstrel,  I  bid  them  sing  their  newest  conceits.  I  can¬ 
not  wish  ever  again  to  hear  the  poetry  I  heard  when  I 
was  young  !  ” 

“  Pardon  me,”  said  Adrian,  with  great  interest,  “  but 
fain  would  I  have  dared,  though  a  secret  apprehension 
prevented  me  hitherto,  —  fain  would  I  have  dared  to 
question  you  of  that  lovely  lady,  with  whom,  seven  years 
ago,  we  gazed  at  moonlight  upon  the  odorous  orange- 
groves  and  rosy  waters  of  Terracina.” 

Montreal  turned  aw^ay  his  face ;  he  laid  his  hand  on 
Adrian’s  arm,  and  murmured,  in  a  deep  and  hoarse  tone, 
“  I  am  alone  now  !  ” 

Adrian  pressed  his  hand  in  silence.  He  felt  no  light 
shock  at  thus  learning  the  death  of  one  so  gentle,  so 
lovely,  and  so  ill-fated. 

“The  vows  of  my  knighthood,”  continued  Montreal, 
“which  precluded  Adeline  the  rights  of  wedlock  —  the 
shame  of  her  house — the  angry  grief  of  her  mother — the 
wild  vicissitudes  of  my  life,  so  exposed  to  peril — the  loss 
of  her  son  —  all  preyed  silently  on  her  frame.  She  did 
not  die  (die  is  too  harsh  a  word  !),  but  she  drooped  away, 
and  glided  into  heaven.  Even  as  on  a  summer’s  morn 
some  soft  dream  fleets  across  us,  growing  less  and  less 


224 


RIENZI, 


distinct,  until  it  fades,  as  it  were,  into  light,  and  we 
awaken  —  so  faded  Adeline’s  parting  spirit,  till  the  day¬ 
light  of  God  broke  upon  it.” 

Montreal  paused  a  moment,  and  then  resumed  :  “  These 
thoughts  make  the  boldest  of  us  weak  sometimes,  and  we 
Provencals  are  foolish  in  these  matters  !  —  God  wot,  she 
was  very  dear  to  me  I  ” 

The  knight  bent  down  and  crossed  himself  devoutly, 
his  lips  muttered  a  prayer.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to 
our  more  enlightened  age,  so  martial  a  garb  did  morality 
then  wear,  that  this  man,  at  whose  word  towns  had 
blazed  and  torrents  of  blood  had  flowed,  neither  ad¬ 
judged  himself,  nor  was  adjudged  by  the  majority  of  his 
contemporaries,  a  criminal.  His  order,  half  monastic, 
half  warlike,  was  emblematic  of  himself.  He  trampled 
upon  man,  yet  humbled  himself  to  God  ;  nor  had  all  his 
acquaintance  with  the  refining  scepticism  of  Italy  shaken 
the  sturdy  and  simple  faith  of  the  bold  Provenqal.  So 
far  from  recognizing  any  want  of  harmony  between  his 
calling  and  his  creed,  he  held  that  man  no  true  chevalier 
who  was  not  as  devout  to  the  Cross  as  relentless  with  the 
sword. 

“And  you  have  no  child  save  the  one  you  lost  ?  ”  asked 
Adrian,  when  he  observed  the  wonted  composure  of 
Montreal  once  more  returning. 

“None  !”  said  Montreal,  as  his  brow  again  darkened. 
“No  love-begotten  heir  of  mine  will  succeed  to  the  for¬ 
tunes  I  trust  yet  to  build.  Never  on  earth  shall  I  see 
upon  the  face  of  her  child  the  likeness  of  Adeline  I 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


225 


Yet,  at  Avignon,  I  saw  a  boy  I  would  have  claimed ; 
for  metliought  she  must  have  looked  her  soul  into  his 
eyes,  they  were  so  like  hers  !  Well,  well !  the  Provence 
tree  hath  other  branches ;  and  some  unborn  nephew 
must  be — what  ?  The  stars  have  not  yet  decided  !  But 
ambition  is  now  the  only  thing  in  the  world  left  metolove.’^ 

“  So  differently  operates  the  same  misfortune  upon 
different  characters,”  thought  the  Golonna.  “  To  me, 
crowns  became  valueless  when  I  could  no  longer  dream 
of  placing  them  on  Irene’s  brow.” 

The  similarity  of  their  fates,  however,  attracted 
Adrian  strongly  towards  his  host ;  and  the  two  knights 
conversed  together  with  more  friendship  and  unreserve 
than  they  had  hitherto  done.  At  length  Montreal  said, 
‘‘By  the  way,  I  have  not  inquired  your  destination.” 

“I  am  bound  to  Rome,”  said  Adrian;  “and  the  in¬ 
telligence  I  have  learned  from  you  incites  me  thitherward 
yet  more  eagerly.  If  Rienzi  return,  I  may  mediate  sue 
cessfully,  perchance,  between  the  Tribune-Senator  and  the 
nobles  ;  and  if  I  find  my  cousin,  young  Stefanello,  now  the 
head  of  our  house,  more  tractable  than  his  sires,  I  shall 
not  despair  of  conciliating  the  less  powerful  barons. 
Rome  wants  repose ;  and  whoever  governs,  if  he  govern 
but  with  justice,  ought  to  be  supported  both  by  prince 
and  plebeian  !  ” 

Montreal  listened  with  great  attention,  and  then 
muttered  to  himself,  “Yo,  it  cannot  be!”  He  mused  a 
little  while,  shading  his  brow  with  his  hand,  before  he  said 
aloud,  “To  Rome  you  are- bound.  Well,  we  shall  meet 

p 


226 


RIENZI, 


soon  amidst  its  ruins.  Know,  by  the  way,  that  my  object 
here  is  already  won  :  these  Florentine  merchants  have 
acceded  to  my  terms ;  they  have  purchased  a  two  years’ 
peace ;  to-morrow  the  camp  breaks  up,  and  the  Grand 
Company  march  to  Lombardy.  There,  if  my  schemes 
prosper,  and  the  Venetians  pay  my  price,  I  league  the 
rascals  (under  Landau,  my  lieutenant)  with  the  Sea-City, 
in  defiance  of  the  Yisconti,  and  shall  pass  my  autumn  in 
peace  amidst  the  pomps  of  Rome.” 

“  Sir  Walter  de  Montreal,”  said  Adrian,  “your  frank¬ 
ness  perhaps  makes  me  presumptuous  ;  but  when  I  hear 
you  talk,  like  a  huxtering  trader,  of  selling  alike  your 
friendship  and  your  forbearance,  I  ask  myself,  ‘  Is  this  the 
great  Knight  of  St.  John  ;  and  have  men  spoken  of  him 
fairly,  when  they  assert  the  sole  stain  on  his  laurels  to  be 
his  avarice  ?  ’  ” 

Montreal  bit  his  lip ;  nevertheless,  he  answered  calmly, 
“  My  frankness  has  brought  its  own  penance.  Lord 
Adrian.  However,  I  cannot  wholly  leave  so  honored  a 
guest  under  an  impression  which  I  feel  to  be  plausible, 
but  not  just.  Ko,  brave  Colonna  ;  report  wrongs  me.  I 
value  gold,  for  gold  is  the  architect  of  power  !  It  fills 
the  camp  —  it  storms  the^city  —  it  buys  the  market-place 
—  it  raises  the  palace  —  it  founds  the  throne.  lvalue 
gold  —  it  is  the  means  necessary  to  my  end!” 

“And  that  end - ” 

“  Is  —  no  matter  what,”  said  the  knight  coldly.  “Let 
us  to  our  tents,  the  dews  fall  heavily,  and  the  malaria 
floats  over  these  houseless  wastes.” 


THE  LAST  O  E  THE  TRIBUNES. 


227 


The  pair  rose ;  — yet,  fascinated  by  the  beauty  of  the 
hour,  they  lingered  for  a  moment  by  the  brook.  The 
earliest  stars  shone  over  its  crisping  wavelets,  and  a  de- 
licious  breeze  murmured  gently  amidst  the  glossy  herbage.” 

“  Thus  gazing,”  said  Montreal,  softly,  “  we  reverse  the 
old  Medusan  fable  the  poets,  tell  us  of,  and  look  and  muse 
ourselves  out  of  stone.  A  little  while,  and  it  was  the 
sunlight  that  gilded  the  wave  —  it  now  shines  as  brightly 
and  glides  as  gaily  benea,th  the  stars  ;  even  so  rolls  the 
stream  of  Time :  one  luminary  succeeds  the  other  equally 
welcomed  —  equally  illumining  —  equally  evanescent  I 
You  see,  the  poetry  of  Provence  still  lives  beneath  my 
■  mail !  ” 

Adrian  early  sought  his  couch  ;  but  his  own  thoughts 
and  the  sounds  of  loud  mirth  that  broke  from  Montreal’s 
tent,  where  the  chief  feasted  the  captains  of  his  band,  a 
revel  from  which  he  had  the  delicacy  .to  excuse  the 
Roman  noble,  kept  the  Colonna  long  awake  ;  and  he  had 
scarcely  fallen  into  an  unquiet  slumber,  when  yet  more 
discordant  sounds  again  invaded  his  repose.  At  the 
earliest  dawn  the  wide  armament  was  astir  —  the  creak¬ 
ing  of  cordage  —  the  tramp  of  men  —  loud  orders  and 
louder  oaths  —  the  slow  rolling  of  baggage-wains  —  and 
the  clank  of  the  armorers,  announced  the  removal  of  the 
camp,  and  the  approaching  departure  of  the  Grand 
Company. 

Ere  Adrian  was  yet  attired,  Montreal  entered  his  tent. 

“  I  have  appointed,”  he  said,  “  five  score  lances  under 
a  trusty  leader,  to  accompany  you,  noble  Adrian,  to  the 


228 


R  I  E  N  Z  I , 

borders  of  Romagna  ;  they  wait  yoiir  leisure.  In  another 
hour  I  depart;  the  on-guard  are  already  in  motion.” 

Adrian  would  fain  have  declined  the  proffered  escort ; 
but  he  saw  that  it  would  only  offend  the  pride  of  the 
chief,  who  soon  retired.  Hastily  Adrian  endued  his 
arms  —  the  air  of  the  fresh  morning,  and  the  glad  sun 
rising  gorgeously  from  the  hills,  revived  his  wearied 
spirit.  He  repaired  to  Montreal’s  tent,  and  found  him 
alone,  with  the  implements  of  writing  before  him,  and  a 
triumphant  smile  upon  his  countenance. 

“  Fortune  showers  new  favors  on  me  !  he  said,  gaily. 
“Yesterday  the  Florentines  spared  me  the  trouble  of  a 
siege ;  and  to-day  (even  since  I  last  saw  you  —  a  few 
minutes  since)  puts  your  new  Senator  of  Rome  into  my 
power.” 

“  How  !  have  your  bands  then  arrested  Rienzi  ?  ” 

“Not  so — better  still!  The  Tribune  changed  his 
plan,  and  repaired  to  Perugia,  where  my  brothers  now 
abide  —  sought  them  —  they  have  supplied  him  with 
money  and  soldiers  enough  to  brave  the  perils  of  the 
way,  and  to  defy  the  swords  of  the  barons.  So  writes 
my  good  brother  Arimbaldo,  a  man  of  letters,  whom  the 
Tribune  thinks  rightly  he  has  decoyed  with  old  tales  of 
Roman  greatness,  and  mighty  promises  of  grateful  ad¬ 
vancement.  You  find  me  hastily  expressing  my  content 
at  the  arrangement.  My  brothers  themselves  will  ac¬ 
company  the  Senator-Tribune  to  the  walls  of  the 
Capitol.” 

“  Stili,  I  see  not  how  this  places  Rienzi  in  your  power.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


229 


“  No  I  His  soldiers  are  ray  creatures  —  his  comrades 
ray  brothers  —  his  creditor  myself  I  Let  him  rule  Home 
then  —  the  time  soon  comes  when  the  vice-regent  must 
yield  to - ” 

“  The  chief  of  the  Grand  Company,”  interrupted 
Adrian,  with  a  shudder,  which  the  bold  Montreal  was 
too  engrossed  with  the  unconcealed  excitement  of  his  own 
thoughts  to  notice.  “No,  Knight  of  Provence,  basely 
have  we  succumbed  to  domestic  tyrants :  but  never,  I 
trust,  will  Romans  be  so  vile  as  to  wear  the  yoke  of  a 
foreign  usurper.” 

Montreal  looked  hard  at  Adrian,  and  smiled  sternly. 

“You  mistake  me,”  said  he;  “and  it  will  be  time 
enough  for  you  to  play  the  Brutus  when  I  assume  the 
Caesar.  Meanwhile  we  are  but  host  and  guest.  Let  us 
change  the  theme.” 

Nevertheless,  this,  their  latter  conference,  threw  a  chill 
over  both  during  the  short  time  the  knights  remained 
together,  and  they  parted  with  a  formality  which  was  ill- 
suited  to  their  friendly  intercourse  of  the  night  before. 
Montreal  felt  he  had  incautiously  revealed  himself,  but 
caution  was  no  part  of  his  character,  whenever  he  found 
himself  at  the  head  of  an  army,  and  at  the  full  tide  of 
fortune  ;  and  at  that  moment,  so  confident  was  he  of  the 
success  of  his  wildest  schemes,  that  he  recked  little  whom 
he  offended,  or  whom  alarmed. 

Slowly,  with  his  strange  and  ferocious  escort,  Adrian 
renewed  his  way.  Winding  up  a  steep  ascent  that  led 
II.— 20 


230 


RIENZI, 


from  the  plain, — when  he  reached  the  summit,  a  curve  in 
the  road  showed  him  the  whole  army  on  its  march  ; — the 
gonfalons  waving  —  the  armor  flashing  in  the  sun,  line 
after  line,  like  a  river  of  steel,  and  the  whole  plain  brist¬ 
ling  with  the  array  of  that  moving  war ;  — w'hile  the  sol¬ 
emn  tread  of  the  armed  thousands  fell  subdued  and  stifled 
at  times  by  martial  and  exulting  music.  As  they  swept 
on,  Adrian  descried  at  length  the  stately  and  towering 
form  of  Montreal  upon  a  black  charger,  distinguished 
even  at  that  distance  from  the  rest,  not  more  by  his  gor¬ 
geous  armor  than  his  lofty  stature.  So  swept  he  on  in 
the  pride  of  his  array  —  in  the  flush  of  his  hopes  —  the 
head  of  a  mighty  armament  —  the  terror  of  Italy  —  the 
hero  that  was  —  the  monarch  that  might  be. 


BOOK  NINTH. 


THE  KETUEN 


Allora  la  sua  venuta  fu  a  Roma  sentita;  Romani  si  apparecchiavano  a  riceverlo 
con  letizia. . .  .furo  fatti  archi  trionfali,  &c.  &c. — Vita  di  Cola  di  Riemi,  lib.  ii.  c.  17. 

Then  the  fame  of  his  coming  was  felt  at  Rome ;  the  Romans  made  ready  to  re- 
ceiTe  him  with  gladness. . .  .triumphal  arches  were  erected,  &c.  &c.  —  Life  of  Cola 
di  Rienzi. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Triumphal  Entrance. 

All  Rome  was  astir  I  —  from  St.  Angelo  to  the  Capi- 
itol,  windows,  balconies,  roofs,  were  crowded  with  anima¬ 
ted  thousands.  Only  here  and  there,  in  the  sullen  quar¬ 
ters  of  the  Colonna,  the  Orsini,  and  the  Savelli,  reigned 
a  death-like  solitude  and  a  dreary  gloom.  In  those  for¬ 
tifications,  rather  than  streets,  not  even  the  accustomed 
tread  of  the  barbarian  sentinel  was  heard.  The  gates 
closed  —  the  casements  barred — the  grim  silence  around 
— attested  the  absence  of  the  barons.  They  had  left  the 
city  so  soon  as  they  had  learned  the  certain  approach  of 
Rienzi.  In  the  villages  and  castles  of  the  Campagna, 

surrounded  by  their  mercenaries,  they  awaited  the  hour 

(231) 


232 


RIENZI, 


when  the  people,  weary  of  their  idol,  should  welcome  back  , 
even  those  ferocious  Iconoclasts. 

With  these  exceptions,  all  Rome  was  astir.  Triumphal 
arches  of  drapery,  wrought  with  gold  and  silver,  raised 
at  every  principal  vista,  were  inscribed  with  mottoes  of 
welcome  and  rejoicing.  At  frequent  intervals  stood 
youths  and  maidens,  with  baskets  of  flowers  and  laurels. 
High  above  the  assembled  multitudes  —  from  the  proud 
tower  of  Adrian — from  the  turrets  of  the  Capitol  —  from 
the  spires  of  the  sacred  buildings  dedicated  to  apostle 
and  to  saint  —  floated  banners  as  for  a  victory.  Rome 
once  more  opened  her  arms  to  receive  her  Tribune  ! 

Mingled  with  the  crowd — disguised  by  his  large  mantle 
—  hidden  by  the  pressure  of  the  throng  —  his  person,  in¬ 
deed,  forgotten  by  most  —  and,  in  the  confusion  of  the 
moment,  heeded  by  none  —  stood  Adrian  Colonna  !  He 
had  not  been  able  to  conquer  his  interest  for  the  brother 
of  Irene.  Solitary  amidst  his  fellow-citizens,  he  stood  — 
the  only  one  of  the  proud  race  of  Colonna  who  witnessed 
the  triumph  of  the  darling  of  the  people. 

“  They  say  he  has  grown  large  in  his  prison,’’  said  one 

of  the  bystanders ;  “  he  was  lean  enough  when  he  came 

♦ 

by  daybreak  out  of  the  church  of  St.  Angelo  !  ” 

“Ay,”  said  another,  a  little  man,  with  a  shrewd,  rest¬ 
less  eye  ;  “  they  say  truly  —  I  saw  him  take  leave  of  the 
legate.” 

Every  eye  was  turned  to  the  last  speaker :  he  became 
at  once  a  personage  of  importance.  “  Yes,”  continued 
the  little  man  with  an  elated  and  pompous  air,  “  as  soon, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


233 


d’ye  see,  as  he  had  prevailed  on  Messere  Brettone,  and 
Messere  Arimbaldo,  the  brothers  of  Fra  Moreale,  to  ac¬ 
company  him  from  Perugia  to  Monte  Fiascone,  he  went 
at  once  to  the  legate  d’Albornoz,  who  was  standing  in 
the  open  air  conversing  with  his  captains.  A  crowd  fol¬ 
lowed.  I  was  one  of  them  ;  and  the  Tribune  nodded  at 
»me — ay,  that  did  he  ! — and  so,  with  his  scarlet  cloak,  and 
his  scarlet  cap,  he  faced  the  proud  cardinal  with  a  pride 
greater  than  his  own.  ‘  Monsignore,’ said  he,  ‘though 
you  accord  me  neither  money  nor  arms,  to  meet  the  dan¬ 
gers  of  the  road  and  brave  the  ambush  of  the  barons,  I 
am  prepared  to  depart.  Senator  of  Rome,  his  holiness 
hath  made  me  :  according  to  custom,  I  pray  you.  Mon¬ 
signore,  forthwith  to  confirm  the  rank.’  I  would  you 
could  have  seen  how  the  proud  Spaniard  stared,  and 
blushed,  and  frowned  ;  but  he  bit  his  lip,  and  said  little.” 
“  And  confirmed  Rienzi  senator  ?  ” 

“  Yes  ;  and  blessed  him,  and  bade  him  depart.” 

“  Senator  !  ”  said  a  stalwart  but  grey-haired  giant  with 
folded  arms  ;  “  I  like  not  a  title  that  has  been  borne  by  a 
patrician.  I  fear  me  in  the  new  title  he  will  forget  the 
old.”  *  - 

“Fie,  Cecco  del  Yecchio,  you  were  always  a  grum¬ 
bler  I  ”  said  a  merchant  of  cloth,  whose  commodity  the 
ceremonial  had  put  in  great  request.  “  Fie  !  — for  my 
part,  I  think  Senator  a  less  new-fangled  title  than  Trib¬ 
une.  I  hope  there  will  be  feasting  enow,  at  last.  Rome 
has  been  long  dull.  A  bad  time  for  trade,  I  warrant  me  !  ” 
The  artisan  grinned  scornfully.  He  was  one  of  those 
20* 


234 


R I  E  N  Z  I , 


who  distinguished  between  the  middle  class  and  the 
working,  and  he  loathed  a  merchant  as  much  as  he  did  a 
noble.  “  The  day  wears,”  said  the  little  man  ;  “he  must 
be  here  anon.  The  senator’s  lady,  and  all  his  train,  have 
gone  forth  to  meet  him  these  two  hours.” 

Scarce  were  these  words  uttered,  when  the  crowd  to 
the  right  swayed  restlessly;  and  presently  a  horseman 
rode  rapidly  through  the  street.  “Way  there!  Keep 
back  I  Way  —  make  way  for  the  Most  Illustrious  the 
Senator  of  Rome  I  ” 

The  crowd  became  hushed — then  murmuring  —  then 
hushed  again.  From  balcony  and  casement  stretched 
the  neck  of  every  gazer.  The  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard 
at  a  distance — the  sound  of  clarion  and  trumpet ; — then, 
gleaming  through  the  distant  curve  of  the  streets,  was 
seen  the  wave  of  the  gonfalons  —  then,  the  glitter  of 
spears — and  then  from  the  whole  multitude,  as  from  one 
voice,  arose  the  shout,  —  “  He  comes  !  he  comes  I  ” 

Adrian  shrunk  yet  more  backward  amongst  the  throng  ; 
and,  leaning  against  the  wall  of  one  of  the  houses,  con¬ 
templated  the  approaching  pageant. 

First  came,  six  abreast,  the  procession  of  Roman 
horsemen  who  had  gone  forth  to  meet  the  senator,  bear¬ 
ing  boughs  of  olive  in  their  hands  ;  each  hundred  pre¬ 
ceded  by  banners,  inscribed  with  the  words,  “  Liberty 
and  Peace  restored.”  As  these  passed  the  group  by 
Adrian,  each  more  popular  citizen  of  the  cavalcade  was 
recognized,  and  received  with  loud  shouts.  By  the  garb 
and  equipment  of  the  horsemen,  Adrian  saw  that  they 


235 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 

belonged  chiefly  to  the  traders  of  Rome  ;  a  race  who, 
he  well  knew,  unless  strangely  altered,  valued  liberty 
only  as  a  commercial  speculation.  ‘‘A  vain  support 
these,”  thought  the  Colonna ;  —  “what  next?”  On, 
then,  came  in  glittering  armor  the  German  mercenaries, 
hired  by  the  gold  of  the  Brothers  of  Provence,  in  num¬ 
ber  two  hundred  and  fifty,  and  previously  in  the  pay  of 
Malatesta  of  Rimini :  —  tall,  stern,  sedate,  disciplined, — • 
eyeing  the  crowd  with  a  look,  half  of  barbarian  wonder, 
half  of  insolent  disdain.  No  shout  of  gratulation  wel¬ 
comed  these  sturdy  strangers ;  it  was  evident  that  their 
aspect  cast  a  chill  over  the  assembly. 

“  Shame  !  ”  growled  Cecco  del  Yecchio,  audibly.  “  Has 
the  people’s  friend  need  of  the  swords  which  guard  an 
Orsini  or  a  Malatesta  ?  —  shame  !  ” 

No  voice  this  time  silenced  the  huge  malcontent. 

“  His  only  real  defence  against  the  barons,”  thought 
Adrian,  “  if  he  pay  them  well.  But  their  number  is  not 
sufficient.” 

Next  came  two  hundred  fantassins,  or  foot-soldiers  of 
Tuscany,  with  the  corselets  and  arms  of  the  heavy-armed 
soldiery  —  a  gallant  company,  and  whose  cheerful  looks 
and  familiar  bearing  appeared  to  sympathize  with  the 
crowd.  And  in  truth  they  did  so,  —  for  they  were  Tus¬ 
cans,  and  therefore  lovers  of  freedom.  In  them,  too,  the 
Romans  seemed  to  recognize  natural  and  legitimate 
allies, — and  there  was  a  general  cry  of  “  Yivano  i  bravi 
Toscani !  ” 


236 


RIENZI, 

‘‘  Poor  defence  !”  thought  the  more  sagacious  Colonna ; 
"  the  barons  can  awe,  and  the  mob  corrupt  them.” 

Next  came  a  file  of  trumpeters  and  standard-bearers; 
— and  now  the  sound  of  the  music  was  drowned  by  shouts, 
which  seemed  to  rise  simultaneously  as  from  every  quarter 
of  the  city  ;  —  “  Rienzi !  Rienzi  ! — Welcome,  welcome  ! 
—  Liberty  and  Rienzi  !  Rienzi  and  the  Good  Estate  !  ” 
Flowers  dropped  on  his  path,  kerchiefs  and  banners 
waved  from  every  house  : — tears  might  be  seen  coursing, 
unheeded,  down  bearded  cheeks  ;  — youth  and  age  were 
kneeling  together,  with  uplifted  hands,  invoking  blessings 
on  the  head  of  the  Restored.  On  he  came,  the  Senator- 
Tribune  —  “  the  Phoenix  to  his  pyre  !  ” 

Robed  in  scarlet,  that  literally  blazed  with  gold,  his 
proud  head  bared  in  the  sun,  and  bending  to  the  saddle 
bow,  Rienzi  passed  slowly  through  the  throng.  Not  in 
the  flush  of  that  hour  were  visible,  on  his  glorious  coun¬ 
tenance,  the  signs  of  disease  and  care  :  the  very  enlarge¬ 
ment  of  his  proportions  gave  a  greater  majesty  to  his 
mien.  Hope  sparkled  in  his  eye  —  triumph  and  empire 
sat  upon  his  brow.  The  crowd  could  not  contain  them¬ 
selves  ;  they  pressed  forward,  each  upon  each,  anxious 
to  catch  the  glance  of  his  eye,  to  touch  the  hem  of  his 
robe.  He  himself  was  deeply  affected  by  their  joy.  He 
halted  ;  with  faltering  and  broken  words,  he  attempted 
to  address  them.  “  I  am  repaid,”  he  said, — “  repaid  for 
all;  —  may  I  live  to  make  you  happy  I  ” 

The  crowd  parted  again  —  the  senator  moved  on  — 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


237 


again  the  crowd  closed  in.  Behind  the  Tribune,  to  their 
excited  imagination,  seemed  to  move  the  very  goddess 
of  ancient  Rome. 

IJpon  a  steed,  caparisoned  with  cloth  of  gold; — in 
snow-white  robes,  studded  with  gems  that  flashed  back 
the  day, — came  the  beautiful  and  regal  Mna.  The 
memory  of  her  pride,  her  ostentation,  all  forgotten  in 
that  moment,  she  was  scarce  less  welcome,  scarce  less 
idolized,  than  her  lord.  And  her  smile  all  radiant  with 
joy  —  her  lip  quivering  with  proud  and  elate  emotion  — 
never  had  she  seemed  at  once  so  born  alike  for  love  and 
for  command  ; — a  Zenobia  passing  through  the  pomp  of 
Rome,  —  not  a  captive,  but  a  queen. 

But  not  upon  that  stately  form  riveted  the  gaze  of 
Adrian  —  pale,  breathless,  trembling,  he  clung  to  the 
walls  against  which  he  leaned.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  Had 
the  dead  revived  ?  Or  was  it  his  own  —  his  living  Irene 
—  whose  soft  and  melancholy  loveliness  shone  sadly  by 
the  side  of  Nina — a  star  beside  the  moon  ?  The  pageant 
faded  from  his  eyes  —  all  grew  dim  and  dark.  For  a 
moment  he  was  insensible.  When  he  recovered,  the 
crowd  was  hurrying  along,  confused  and  blent  with  the 
mighty  stream  that  followed  the  procession.  Through 
the  moving  ihultitude  he  caught  the  graceful  form  of 
Irene,  again  snatched  by  the  closing  standards  of  the 
procession  from  his  view.  His  blood  rushed  .back  from 
his  heart  through  every  vein.  He  was  as  a  man  who  fc^' 
years  had  been  in  a  fearful  trance,  and  who  is  suddenly' 
awakened  to  the  light  of  heaven. 


238 


RIENZI, 


One  of  that  mighty  throng  remained  motionless  with 
Adrian.  It  was  Cecco  del  Yecchio. 

did  not  see  me,”  muttered  the  smith  to  himself ; 

% 

old  friends  are  forgotten  now!  Well,  well,  Cecco 
del  Yecchio  hates  tyrants  still  —  no  matter  what  their 
name,  nor  how  smoothly  they  are  disguised.  He  did  not 
see  ME  I  TJmph  !  ” 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Masquerade. 

The  acuter  reader  has  already  learned,  without  the 
absolute  intervention  of  the  author  as 'narrator,  the  inci¬ 
dents  occurring  to  Rienzi  in  the  interval  between  his 
acquittal  at  Avignon  and  his  return  to  Rome.  As  the 
impression  made  by  Nina  upon  the  softer  and  better 
nature  of  Albornoz  died  away,  he  naturally  began  to 
consider  his  guest  —  as  the  profound  politicians  of  that 
day  ever  considered  men  —  a  piece  upon  the  great  chess¬ 
board,  to  be  moved,  advanced,  or  sacrificed,  as  best  suited 
the  scheme  in  view.  His  purpose  accomplished  in  the 
recovery  of  the  patrimonial  territory,  the  submission  of 
John  di  Yico,  and  the  fall  and  death  of  the  demagogue 
Baroncelli,  the  cardinal  deemed  it  far  from  advisable  to 
restore  to  Rome,  with  so  high  a  dignity,  the  able  and 
ambitious  Rienzi.  Before  the  daring  Roman,  even  his 
own  great  spirit  quailed  j  and  he  was  wholly  unable  to 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


239 


conceive  or  to  calculate  the  policy  that  might  be  adopted 
by  the  new  senator,  when  once  more  lord  of  Rome.  With¬ 
out  affecting  to  detain,  he  therefore  declined  to  assist  in 
restoring  him.  And  Rienzi  thus  saw  himself  within  an 
easy  march  of  Rome,  without  one  soldier  to  protect  him 
against  the  barons  by  the  way.  But  Heaven  had  decreed 
that  no  single  man,  however  gifted,  or  however  power¬ 
ful,  should  long  counteract  or  master  the  destinies  of 
Rienzi ;  and  perhaps  in  no  more  glittering  scene  of  his 
life  did  he  ever  evince  so  dexterous  and  subtle  an  intellect 
as  he  now  did  in  extricating  himself  from  the  wiles  of 
the  cardinal.  Repairing  to  Perugia,  he  had,  as  we  have 
seen,  procured,  through  the  brothers  of  Montreal,  men 
and  money  for  his  return.  But  the  Knight  of  St.John 
was  greatly  mistaken  if  he  imagined  that  Rienzi  was  not 
thoroughly  aware  of  the  perilous  and  treacherous  tenure 
of  the  support  he  had  received.  His  keen  eye  read  at  a 
glance  the  aims  and  the  characters  of  the  brothers  of 
Montreal  —  he  knew  that  while  affecting  to  serve  him, 
they  designed  to  control  —  that,  made  the  debtor  of  the 
grasping  and  aspiring  Montreal,  and  surrounded  by  the 
troops  conducted  by  Montreal’s  brethren,  he  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  net  which,  if  not  broken,  would  soon  involve 
fortune  and  life  itself  in  its  fatal  and  deadly  meshes.  But, 
confident  in  the  resources  and  promptitude  of  his 'own 
genius,  he  yet  sanguinely  trusted  to  make  those  his  pup¬ 
pets,  who  dreamed  that  he  was  their  own ;  and  with 
empire  for  the  stake,  he  cared  not  how  crafty  the  antago¬ 
nists  he  was  compelled  to  engage. 


240 


El  EN  ZI, 


Meanwhile,  uniting  to  all  his  rasher  and  all  his  nobler 
qualities  a  profound  dissimulation,  he  appeared  to  trust 
implicitly  to  his  Proven9al  companions ;  and  his  first  act 
on  entering  the  Capitol,  after  the  triumphal  procession, 
was  to  reward  with  the  highest  dignities  in  his  gift, 
Messere  Arimbaldo  and  Messere  Brettone  de  Montreal ! 

High  feasting  was  there  that  night  in  the  halls  of  the 
Capitol ;  but  dearer  to  Bienzi  than  all  the  pomp  of  the 
day,  were  the  smiles  of  Nina.  Her  proud  and  admiring 
eyes,  swimming  with  delicious  tears,  fixed  upon  his  coun¬ 
tenance,  she  but  felt  that  they  were  re-united,  and  that 
the  hours,  however  brilliantly  illumined,  were  hastening 
to  that  moment  when,  after  so  desolate  and  dark  an 
absence,  they  might  once  more  be  alone. 

Far  other  the  thoughts  of  Adrian  Colonna,  as  he  sat 
alone  in  the  dreary  palace  in  the  yet  more  dreary  quarter 
of  his  haughty  race.  Irene,  then,  was  alive  —  he  had 
been  deceived  by  some  strange  error  —  she  had  escaped 
the  devouring  pestilence ;  and  something  in  the  pale  sad¬ 
ness  of  her  gentle  features,  even  in  that  day  of  triumph, 
told  him  he  w^as  still  remembered.  But  as  his  mind  by 
degrees  calmed  itself  from  its  first  wild  and  tumultuous 
rapture,  he  could  not  help  asking  himself  the  question 
whether  they  were  not  still  to  be  divided  !  Stefanello 
Colonna,  the  grandson  of  the  old  Stephen,  and  (by  the 
death  of  his  sire  and  brother)  the  youthful  head  of  that 
powerful  house,  had  already  raised  his  standard  against 
the  Senator.  Fortifying  himself  in  the  almost  impregna¬ 
ble  fastness  of  Palestrina,  he  had  assembled  around  him 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES, 


241 


all  the  retainers  of  his  family,  and  his  lawless  soldiery 
now  ravaged  the  neighboring  plains  far  and  wide. 

Adrian  foresaw  that  the  lapse  of  a  few  days  would 
suffice  to  bring  the  Colonna  and  the  Senator  to  open  war. 
Could  he  take  part  against  those  of  his  own  blood  ?  The 
very  circumstance  of  his  love  for  Irene  would  yet  more 
rob  such  a  proceeding  of  all  appearance  of  disinterested 
patriotism,  and  yet  more  deeply  and  irremediably  stain 
his  knightly  fame,  wherever  the  sympathy  of  his  equals 
w^as  enlisted  with  the  cause  of  the  Colonna.  On  the 
other  hand,  not  only  his  love  for  the  Senator’s  sister,  but 
his  own  secret  inclinations  and  honest  convictions,  were 
on  the  side  of  one  who  alone  seemed  to  him  possessed  of 
the  desire  and  the  genius  to  repress  the  disorders  of  his 
fallen  city.  Long  meditating,  he  feared  no  alternative 
was  left  him  but  in  the  same  cruel  neutrality  to  which  he 
had  been  before  condemned  ;  but  he  resolved  at  least  to 
make  the  attempt  —  rendered  favorable  and  dignified  by 
his  birth  and  reputation  —  to  reconcile  the  contending 
parties.  To  effect  this,  he  saw  that  he  must  begin  with 
his  haughty  cousin.  He  was  well  aware  that  were  it 
known  that  he  had  first  obtained  an  interview  with  Rienzi 
—  did  it  appear  as  if  he  were  charged  with  overtures 
from  the  Senator  —  although  Stefanello  himself  might  be 
inclined  to  yield  to  his  representations,  the  insolent  and 
ferocious  barons  who  surrounded  him  would  not  deign  to 
listen  to  the  envoy  of  the  people’s  chosen  one  ;  and  in¬ 
stead  of  being  honored  as  an  intercessor,  he  should  be 
suspected  as  a  traitor.  He  determined,  then,  to  depart 

IL— 21  Q 


242 


RIENZI, 


for  Palestrina ;  but  (and  his  heart  beat  audibly)  would  it 
not  be  possible  first  to  obtain  an  interview  with  Irene  I 
It  was  no  easy  enterprise,  surrounded  as  she  was,  but  he 
resolved  to  adventure  it.  He  summoned  Giulio. 

“The  Senator  holds  a  festival  this  evening  —  think 
you  that  the  assemblage  will  be  numerous  ?  ” 

“  I  hear,”  answered  Giulio,  “  that  the  banquet  given 
to  the  ambassadors  and  signors  to-day  is  to  be  followed 
to-morrow  by  a  mask,  to  which  all  ranks  are  admitted. 
By  Bacchus,*  if  the  Tribune  only  invited  nobles,  the 
smallest  closet  in  the  Capitol  would  suffice  to  receive  his 
maskers.  I  suppose  a  mask  has  been  resolved  on  in 
order  to  disguise  the  quality  of  the  visitors.” 

Adrian  mused  a  moment,  and  the  result  of  his  reverie 
was  a  determination  to  delay  for  another  sun  his  de¬ 
parture  to  Palestrina  —  to  take  advantage  of  the  nature 
of  the  revel,  and  to  join  the  masquerade. 

That  species  of  entertainment,  though  unusual  at  that 
season  of  the  year,  had  been  preferred  by  Bienzi,  partly 
and  ostensibly  because  it  was  one  in  which  all  his 
numerous  and  motley  supporters  could  be  best  received  ; 
but  chiefly  and  secretly  because  it  afforded  himself  and 
his  confidential  friends  the  occasion  to  mix  unsuspected 
amongst  the  throng,  and  learn  more  of  the  real  anticipa¬ 
tions  of  the  Romans  with  respect  to  his  policy  and  his 
strength  than  could  well  be  gathered  from  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  public  spectacle. 


*  Still  a  common  Roman  expletive. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


24B 


The  following  night  was  beautifully  serene  and  clear. 
The  better  to  accommodate  the  numerous  guests,  and  to 
take  advantage  of  the  warm  and  moonlit  freshness  of  the 
air,  the  open  court  of  the  Capitol,  with  the  Place  of  the 
Lion  (as  well  as  the  s-tate  apartments  within),  was  de¬ 
voted  to  the  festival. 

As  Adrian  entered  the  festive  court  with  the  rush  of 
the  throng,  it  chanced  that  in  the  eager  impatience  of 
some  maskers,  more  vehement  than  the  rest,  his  vizard 
was  deranged.  He  hastily  replaced  it ;  but  not  before 
one  of  the  guests  had  recognized  his  countenance. 

From  courtesy,  Rienzi  and  his  family  remained  at  first 
unmasked.  They  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  to  which 
the  old  Egyptian  Lion  gave  the  name.  The  lights  shone 
over  that  colossal  monument  —  which,  torn  from  its  an¬ 
tique  home,  had  witnessed,  in  its  grim  repose,  the  rise 
and  lapse  of  countless  generations,  and  the  dark  and 
stormy  revolutions  of  avenging  Fate.  It  was  an  ill  omen, 
often  afterwards  remarked,  that  the  place  of  that  state 
festival  was  the  place  also  of  the  state  executions.  But 
at  that  moment,  as  group  after  group  pressed  forward  to 
win  smile  and  word  from  the  celebrated  man,  whose  for¬ 
tunes  had  been  the  theme  of  Europe,  or  to  bend  in 
homage  to  the  lustrous  loveliness  of  Nina,  no  omen  and 
no  warning  clouded  the  universal  gladness. 

Behind  Nina,  well  contented  to  shrink  from  the  gaze 
of  the  throng,  and  to  feel  her  softer  beauty  eclipsed  by 
the  dazzling  and  gorgeous  charms  of  her  brother’s  wife, 
stood  Irene.  Amidst  the  crowd,  on  her  alone  Adrian 


244 


RIENZI, 


fixed  his  eyes.  The  years  which  had  flown  over  the  fair 
brow  of  the  girl  of  sixteen  —  then  animated  by,  yet 
trembling  beneath,  the  first  wild  breath  of  love  ; — youth 
in  every  vein  —  passion  and  childish  tenderness  in  every 
thought,  had  not  marred,  but  they  had  changed,  the 
character  of  Irene’s  beauty.  Her  cheek,  no  longer  vary¬ 
ing  with  every  instant,  was  settled  into  a  delicate  and 
thoughtful  paleness — her  form,  more  rounded  to  the 
proportions  of  Roman  beauty,  had  assumed  an  air  of 
dignified  and  calm  repose.  No  longer  did  the  restless 
eye  wander  in  search  of  some  imagined  object ;  no  longer 
did  the  lip  quiver  into  smiles  at  some  untold  hope  or 
half-unconscious  recollection.  A  grave  and  mournful 
expression  gave  to  her  face  (still  how  sweet !)  a  gravity 
beyond  her  years.  The  bloom,  the  flush,  the  April  of  the 
heart,  was  gone  ;  but  yet  neither  time,  nor  sorrow,  nor 
blighted  love,  had  stolen  from  her  countenance  its  rare 
and  angelic  softness  —  nor  that  inexpressible  and  virgin 
modesty  of  form  and  aspect,  which,  contrasting  the 
bolder  beauties  of  Italy,  had  more  than  aught  else  dis¬ 
tinguished  to  Adrian,  from  all  other  women,  the  idol  of 
his  heart.  And  feeding  his  gaze  upon  those  dark  deep 
eyes,  which  spoke  of  thought  far  away  and  busy  with  the 
past,  Adrian  felt  again  and  again  that  he  was  not  for¬ 
gotten.  Hovering  near  her,  but  sulfering  the  crowd  to 
press  one  after  another  before  him,  he  did  not  perceive 
that  he  had  attracted  the  eagle  eye  of  the  Senator. 

In  fact,  as  one  of  the  maskers  passed  Rienzi,  he 
whispered,  “Beware,  a  Colonna  is  among  the  masks! 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


245 


beneatli  the  reveller’s  domino  has  often  lurked  the 
assassin’s  dagger.  Yonder  stands  your  foe — mark  him  !  ” 

These  words  were  the  first  sharp  and  thrilling  intima¬ 
tion  of  the  perils  into  which  he  had  rushed,  that  the 
Tribune-Senator  had  received  since  his  return.  He 
changed  color  slightly  ;  and  for  some  minutes  the  courtly 
smile  and  ready  greeting  with  which  he  had  hitherto  de¬ 
lighted  every  guest,  gave  way  to  a  moody  abstraction. 

“  Why  stands  yon  strange  man  so  mute  and  motion¬ 
less  ?  ”  whispered  he  to  Nina.  “  He  speaks  to  none — he 
approaches  us  not  —  a  churl,  a  churl!  —  he  must  be 
seen  to.” 

“  Doubtless,  some  German  or  English  barbarian,”  an¬ 
swered  Nina.  “  Let  not,  my  lord,  so  slight  a  cloud  dim 
your  merriment.” 

“You  are  right,  dearest;  we  have  friends  here;  we 
are  well  girt.  And,  by  my  father’s  ashes,  I  feel  that  I 
must  accustom  myself  to  danger.  Nina,  let  us  move  on  ; 
methinks  we  might  now  mix  among  the  maskers  — 
masked  ourselves.” 

The  music  played  loud  and  cheerily  as  the  Senator  and 
his  party  mingled  with  the  throng.  But  still  his  eye 
turned  ever  towards  the  grey  domino  of  Adrian,  and  he 
perceived  that  it  followed  his  steps.  Approaching  the 
private  entrance  of  the  Ctipitol,  he  for  a  few  moments 
lost  sight  of  his  unwelcome  pursuer:  but  just  as  he  en¬ 
tered,  turning  abruptly,  Rienzi  perceived  him  close  at  his 
side  —  the  next  moment  the  stranger  had  vanished 
amidst  the  throng.  But  that  moment  had  sufficed  to 
21* 


246 


RIEN  ZI, 


Adrian  —  he  had  reached  Irene.  “Adrian  Colonna  [he 
whispered]  awaits  thee  beside  the  Lion.” 

In  the  absorption  of  his  own  reflections,  Rienzi  fortu¬ 
nately  did  not  notice  the  sudden  paleness  and  agitation 
of  his  sister.  Entered  v/ithin  his  palace,  he  called  for 
wiiie  —  the  draught  revived  his  spirits  —  he  listened 
smilingly  to  the  sparkling  remarks  of  Nina  ;  and  enduing 
his  mask  and  disguise,  said,  with  his  wonted  cheerfulness, 
“  Now  for  truth  —  strange  that  in  festivals  it  should  only 
speak  behind  a  vizard  !  My  sweet  sister,  thou  hast  lost 
thine  old  smile,  and  I  would  rather  see  that  than  —  Ha  I 
has  Irene  vanished  ?  ” 

“  Only,  I  suppose,  to  change  her  dress,  my  Cola,  and 
mingle  with  the  revellers,”  answered  Nina.  “Let  my 
smile  atone  for  hers.” 

Rienzi  kissed  the  bright  brow  of  his  wife,  as  she  clung 
fondly  to  his  bosom.  “Thy  smile  is  the  sunlight,”  said 
he  ;  “but  this  girl  disturbs  me.  Methinks  now,  at  least, 
she  might  wear  a  gladder  aspect.” 

“  Is  there  nothing  of  love  beneath  my  fair  sister’s 
gloom  ?  ”  answered  Nina.  “  Do  you  not  call  to  mind 
how  she  loved  Adrian  Colonna  ?  ” 

“  Does  that  fantasy  hold  still  ?  ”  returned  Rienzi, 
musingly.  “Well,  and  she  is  fit  bride  for  a  monarch.” 

“Yet  it  were  an  alliance  that  would,  better  than  one 
with  monarchs,  strengthen  thy  power  at  Rome  !  ” 

“Ay,  were  it  possible  ;  but  that  haughty  race  !  —  Per¬ 
chance  this  very  masker  that  so  haunted  our  steps  was 
but  her  lover.  I  will  look  to  this.  Let  us  forth,  my 
Nina.  Am  I  well  cloaked?” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


241 


“  Excellently  well  —  and  I  ?  ” 

‘‘The  sun  behind  a  cloud.” 

“Ah,  let  us  not  tarry  long ;  what  hour  of  revel  like 
that  when  thy  hand  in  mine,  this  head  upon  thy  bosom, 
we  forget  the  sorrows  we  have  known,  and  even  the 
triumphs  we  have  shared  ?  ” 

Meanwhile,  Irene,  confused  and  lost  amidst  a  transport 
of  emotion,  already  disguised  and  masked,  was  threading 
her  way  through  the  crowd  back  to  the  staircase  of  the 
Lion.  With  the  absence  of  the  Senator,  that  spot  had 
comparatively  been  deserted.  Music  and  the  dance  at¬ 
tracted  the  maskers  to  another  quarter  of  the  wide  space. 
And  Irene  now  approaching,  beheld  the  moonlight  fall 
over  the  statue,  and  a  solitary  figuredeaning  against  the 
pedestal.  She  paused,  the  figure  approached,  and  again 
she  heard  the  voice  of  her  early  love. 

“  Oh,  Irene  I  recognized  even  in  thiS'  disguise,”  said 
Adrian,  seizing  her  trembling  hand  ;  “  have  I  lived  to 
gaze  again  upon  that  form  —  to  touch  this  hand  !  Did 
not  these  eyes  behold  thee  lifeless  in  that  fearful  vault, 
which  I  shudder  to  recall  ?  By  what  miracle  wert  thou 
raised  again  ?  By  what  means  did  Heaven  spare  to  this 
earth  one  that  it  seemed  already  to  have  placed  amongst 
its  angels  ?  ” 

“  Was  this,  indeed,  thy  belief?  ”  said  Irene,  falteringly, 
but  with  an  accent  eloquent  of  joy.  “  Thou  didst  not 
then  willingly  desert  me  ?  Unjust  that  I  was,  I  wronged 
thy  noble  nature,  and  deemed  that  my  brother’s  fall,  my 


248 


RIENZI, 

humble  lineage,  thy  brilliant  fate,  had  made  thee  renounce 
Irene.” 

“Unjust  indeed  I”  answered  the  lover.  “But  surely 
I  saw  thee  amongst  the  dead  !  —  thy  cloak,  with  the 
silver  stars  —  who  else  wore  the  arms  of  the  Roman  Tri¬ 
bune  ?  ” 

“Was  it  but  the  cloak  then,  which,  dropped  in  the 
streets,  was  probably  assumed  by  some  more  ill-fated 
victim ;  was  it  that  sight  alone,  that  made  thee  so  soon 
despair?  Ah  I  Adrian,”  continued  Irene,  tenderly,  but 
with  reproach;  “not  even  when  I  saw  thee  seemingly 
lifeless  on  the  couch  by  which  I  had  watched  three  days 
and  nights,  not  even  then  did  I  despair  !  ” 

“  What,-then,  my  vision  did  not  deceive  me  !  It  was 
you  who  watched  by  my  bed  in  that  grim  hour,  whose 
love  guarded,  whose  care  preserved  me  I  And  I,  wretch 
that  I  was  ! - ” 

“ Nay,”  answered  Irene,  “your  thought  was  natural. 
Heaven  seemed  to  endow  me  with  superhuman  strength, 
whilst  I  was  necessary  to  thee.  But  judge  of  my  dismay. 
I  left  thee  to  seek  the  good  friar  who  attended  thee  as 
thy  leech  ;  I  returned,  and  found  thee  not.  Heart-sick 
and  terrified,  I  searched  the  desolate  city  in  vain.  Strong 
as  I  was  while  hope  supported  me,  I  sank  beneath  fear. 
—  And  my  brother  found  me  senseless,  and  stretched  on 
the  ground,  by  the  church  of  St.  Mark.” 

“  The  church  of  St.  Mark  !  —  so  foretold  his  dream  !  ” 

“  He  told  me  he  had  met  thee  ;  we  searched  for  thee 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


249 


in  vain  ;  at  length  we  heard  that  thou  hadst  left  the  city, 
and  —  and  —  I  rejoiced,  Adrian,  but  I  repined  !  ” 

For  some  minutes  the  young  lovers  surrendered  them¬ 
selves  to  the  delights  of  reunion,  while  new  explanations 
called  forth  new  transports. 

“And  now,”  murmured  Irene,  “now  that  we  have  met 
- ”  she  paused,  and  her  mask  concealed  her  blushes. 

“Now  that  we  have  met,”  said  Adrian,  filling  up  the 
silence,  “wouldst  thou  say  further,  ‘that  we  should  not 
part  ?’  Trust  me,  dearest,  that  is  the  hope  that  animates 
my  heart.  It  was  but  to  enjoy  these  bright  moments 
with  thee,  that  I  delayed  my  departure  to  Palestrina. 
Could  I  but  hope  to  bring  my  young  cousin  into  amity 
with  thy  brother,  no  barrier  could  prevent  our  union. 
Willingly  I  forget  the  past  —  the  death  of  my  unhappy 
kinsmen  (victims,  it  is  true,  to  their  own  faults)  ;  and, 
perhaps,  amidst  all  the  crowds  that  hailed.his  return,  none 
more  appreciated  the  great  and  lofty  qualities  of  Cola  di 
Rienzi,  than  did  Adrian  Colonua.” 

“If  this  be  so,”  said  Irene,  “let  me  hope  the  best; 
meanwhile,  it  is  enough  of  comfort  and  of  happiness  to 
know,  that  we  love  each  other  as  of  old.  Ah,  Adrian,  I 
am  sadly  changed ;  and  often  have  I  thought  it  a  thing 
beyond  my  dreams,  that  thou  shouldst  see  me  again  and 
love  me  still.” 

“Fairer  art  thou  and  lovelier  than  ever,”  answered 
Adrian,  passionately  ;  “  and  time,  which  has  ripened  thy 
bloom,  has  but  taught  me  more  deeply  to  feel  thy  value. 
Farewell  Irene  —  I  linger  here  no  longer;  thou  wilt,  I 


250 


RIENZI, 


trust,  hear  soon  of  my  success  with  my  house,  and  ore 
the  week  be  over  I  may  return  to  claim  thy  hand  in  the 
face  of  day.” 

The  lovers  parted  ;  Adrian  lingered  on  the  spot,  and 
Irene  hastened  to  bury  her  emotion  and  her  raptures  in 
her  own  chamber. 

As  her  form  vanished,  and  the  young  Colonna  slowly 
turned  away,  a  tall  mask  strode  abruptly  towards  him. 

“  Thou  art  a  Colonna,”  it  said,  “  and  in  the  power  of 
the  Senator.  Dost  thou  tremble  ?  ” 

‘If  I  be  a  Colonna,  rude  masker,”  answered  Adrian, 
coldly,  “  thou  shouldst  know  the  old  proverb,  ‘  He  who 
stirs  the  column,  shall  rue  the  fall.’” 

The  stranger  laughed  aloud,  and  then  lifting  his  mask, 
Adrian  saw  that  it  was  the  Senator  who  stood  before  him. 

“  My  Lord  Adrian  di  Castello,”  said  Rienzi,  resuming 
all  his  gravity,  “is  it  as  friend  or  foe  that  you  have 
honored  our  revels  this  night  ?  ” 

“  Senator  of  Rome,”  answered  Adrian,  with  equal 
stateliness,  “  I  partake  of  no  man’s  hospitality  but  as  a 
friend.  A  foe,  at  least  to  you,  I  trust  never  justly  to  be 
esteemed.” 

“I  would,”  rejoined  Rienzi,  “that  I  could  apply  to 
myself  unreservedly  that  most  flattering  speech.  Are 
these  friendly  feelings  entertained  towards  me  as  the 
governor  of  the  Roman  people,  or  as  the  brother  of  the 
woman  who  has  listened  to  your  vows  ?  ” 

Adrian,  who  when  the  Senator  had  unmasked  had 
followed  his  example,  felt  at  these  words  that  his  eye 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  251 

quailed  beneath  Rienzi’s.  However,  he  recovered  him¬ 
self  with  the  wonted  readiness  of  an  Italian,  and  replied 
laconically  — 

“As  both.” 

“Both  !  ”  echoed  Rienzi.  “  Then,  indeed,  noble  Adrian, 
you  are  welcome  hither.  And  yet,  methinks,  if  you  con¬ 
ceived  there  was  no  cause  for  enmity  between  us,  you 
would  have  wooed  the  sister  of  Cola  di  Rienzi  in  a  guise 
more  worthy  of  your  birth  ;  and,  permit  me  to  add,  of 
that  station  which  God,  destiny,  and  my  country,  have 
accorded  unto  me.  You  dare  not,  young  Colonna,  medi¬ 
tate  dishonor  to  the  sister  of  the  Senator  of  Rome.  High¬ 
born  as  you  are,  she  is  your  equal.” 

“Were  I  the  emperor,  whose  simple  knight  I  but  am, 
your  sister  were  my  equal,”  answered  Adrian,  warmly. 
“  Rienzi,  I  grieve  that  I  am  discovered  to  you  yet.  I 
had  trusted  that,  as  a  mediator  between  the  barons  and 
yourself,  I  might  first  have  won  your  confidence,  and  then 
claimed  my  reward.  Know  that  with  to-morrow’s  dawn 
I  depart  for  Palestrina,  seeking  to  reconcile  my  young 
cousin  to  the  choice  of  the  people  and  the  pontiff. 
Yarious  reasons,  which  I  need  not  now  detail,  would  have 
made  me  wish  to  undertake  this  heraldry  of  peace  without 
previous  communication  with  you.  But  since  we  have 
met,  intrust  me  with  any  terms  of  conciliation,  and  I 
pledge  you  the  right  hand,  not  of  a  Roman  noble  —  alas  I 
the  prisca  fides  has  departed  from  that  pledge  !  —  but  of 
a  Knight  of  the  Imperial  Court,  that  I  will  not  betray 
your  confidence.” 


252 


RIENZI, 

Rienzi,  accustomed  to  read  the  human  countenance, 
had  kept  his  eyes  intently  fixed  upon  Adrian  while  he 
spoke ;  when  the  Colonna  concluded,  he  pressed  the 
proffered  hand,  and  said,  with  that  familiar  and  winning 
sweetness  which  at  times  was  so  peculiar  to  his  manner — . 

“I  trust  you,  Adrian,  from  my  soul.  You  were  mine 
early  friend  in  calmer,  perchance  happier,  years.  And 
never  did  river  reflect  the  stars  more  clearly,  than  your 
heart  then  mirrored  back  the  truth  I  trust  you  !  ” 

While  thus  speaking,  he  had  mechanically  led  back 
the  Colonna  to  the  statue  of  the  Lion  ;  there  pausing, 
he  resumed  — 

‘‘  Know  that  I  have  this  morning  despatched  my  dele¬ 
gate  to  your  cousin  Stefanello.  With  all  due  courtesy,  I 
have  apprised  him  of  my  return  to  Rome,  and  invited 
hither  his  honored  presence.  Forgetting  all  ancient 
feuds,  mine  own  past  exile,  I  have  assured  him,  here,  the 
station  and  dignity  due  to  the  head  Of  the  Colonna.  All 
that  I  ask  in  return  is  obedience  to  the  law.  Years  and 
reverses  have  abated  my  younger  pride,  and  though  I 
may  yet  preserve  the  sternness  of  the  judge,  none  shall 
hereafter  complain  of  the  insolence  of  the  Tribune.” 

“I  would,”  answered  Adrian,  “^hat  your  mission  to 
Stefanello  had  been  delayed  a  day ;  I  would  fain  have 
forestalled  its  purport.  Howbeit,  you  increase  my  desire 
of  departure :  should  I  yet  succeed  in  obtaining  an  honor¬ 
able  and  peaceful  reconciliation,  it  is  not  in  disguise  that 
I  will  woo  your  sister.” 

‘‘And  never  did  Colonna,”  replied  Rienzi,  loftily. 


I 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


253 


“bring  to  his  house  a  maiden  whose  alliance  more  grati¬ 
fied  ambition.  I  still  see,  as  I  have  seen  ever,  in  mine 
own  projects,  and  mine  own  destinies,  the  chart  of  the 
new  Roman  empire  !  ” 

“Be  not  too  sanguine  yet,  brave  Rienzi,”  replied 
Adrian,  laying  his  hand  on  the  Lion  of  Basalt:  “be¬ 
think  thee  on  how  many  scheming  brains  this  dumb 
image  of  stone  hath  looked  down  from  its  pedestal  — 
schemes  of  sand,  and  schemers  of  dust.  Thou  hast 
enough,  at  present,  for  the  employ  of  all  thine  energy  — 
not  to  extend  thy  power,  but  to  preserve  thyself.  For, 
trust  me,  never  stood  human  greatness  on  so  wild  and 
dark  a  precipice  !  ” 

“  Thou  art  honest,”  said  the  Senator  ;  “  and  these  are 
the  first  words  of  doubt,  and  yet  of  sympathy,  I  have 
heard  in  Rome.  But  the  people  love  me,  the  barons  have 
fled  from  Rome,  the  pontiff  approves,  and  the  swords  of 
the  Northmen  guard  the  avenues  of  the  Capitol.  But 
these  are  naught ;  in  mine  own  honesty  are  my  spear  and 
buckler.  Oh,  never,”  continued  Rienzi,  kindling  with 
his  enthusiasm,  “  never,  since  the  days  of  the  old  republic, 
did  Roman  dream  a  purer  and  a  brighter  aspiration,  than 
that  which  animates  and  supports  me  now.  Peace  re¬ 
stored —  law  established  —  art,  letters,  intellect,  dawning 
upon  the  night  of  time  ;  the  patricians  no  longer  bandits 
of  rapine,  but  the  guard  of  order ;  the  people,  ennobled 
from  a  mob,  brave  to  protect,  enlightened  to  guide,  them¬ 
selves.  Then,  not  by  the  violence  of  arms,  but  by  the 
majesty  of  her  moral  power,  shall  the  Mother  of  Nations 
II.  —  22 


254 


RIENZI, 

claim  the  obedience  of  her  children.  Thus  dreaming  and 
thus  hoping,  shall  I  tremble  or  despond  ?  No,  Adrian 
Colonna,  come  weal  or  woe,  I  abide,  unshrinking  and 
unawed,  by  the  chances  of  my  doom  !  ” 

So  much  did  the  manner  and  tone  of  the  senator  exalt 
his  language,  that  even  the  sober  sense  of  Adrian  was 
enchanted  and  subdued.  He  kissed  the  hand  he  held, 
and  said  earnestly  — 

“A  doom  that  I  will  deem  it  my  boast  to  share  —  a 
career  that  it  will  be  my  glory  to  smooth.  If  I  succeed 
in  my  present  mission - ” 

“You  are  my  brother  !  ”  said  Rienzi. 

“  If  I  fail  ?  ” 

“You  may  equally  claim  that  alliance.  You  pause  — 
you  change  color.” 

“  Can  I  desert  my  house  ?  ” 

“Young  lord,”  said  Rienzi,  loftily,  “say  rather  can 
you  desert  your  country  ?  If  you  doubt  my  honesty,  if 
you  fear  my  ambition,  desist  from  your  task,  rob  me  not 
of  a  single  foe.  But  if  you  believe  that  I  have  the  will 
and  the  power  to  serve  the  state — if  you  recognize,  even 
in  the  reverses  and  calamities  I  have  known  and  mastered, 
the  protecting  hand  of  the  Saviour  of  Nations  —  if  those 
reverses  were  but  the  mercies  of  Him  who  chasteneth  — 
necessary,  it  may  be,  to  correct  my  earlier  daring  and 
sharpen  yet  more  my  intellect  —  if,  in  a  word,  thou  be- 
lievest  me  one  whom,  whatever  be  his  faults,  God  hath 
preserved  for  the  sake  of  Rome,  forget  that  you  are  a 
Colonna  —  remember  only  that  you  are  a  Roman  I  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


255 


*‘You  have  conquered  me,  strange  and  commanding 
spirit,”  said  Adrian,  in  a  low  voice,  completely  carried 
away  ;  “  and  whatever  the  conduct  of  my  kindred,  I  am 
yours  and  Romeos.  Farewell.” 


CHAPTER  III. 

Adrian’s  Adventures  at  Palestrina. 

It  was  yet  noon  when  Adrian  beheld  before  him  the 
lofty  mountains  that  shelter  Palestrina,  the  Prceneste  of 
the  ancient  world.  Back  to  a  period  before  Romulus 
existed,  in  the  earliest  ages  of  that  mysterious  civilization 
which  in  Italy  preceded  the  birth  of  Rome,  could  be  traced 
the  existence  and  the  power  of  that  rocky  city.  Eight 
dependent  towns  owned  its  sway  and  its  wealth ;  its  po¬ 
sition,  and  the  strength  of  those  mighty  walls,  in  whose 
ruins  may  yet  be  traced  the  masonry  of  the  remote  Pe- 
lasgi,  had  long  braved  the  ambition  of  the  neighboring 
Rome.  From  that  very  citadel,  the  Mural  Crown  *  of 
the  mountain,  had  waved  the  standard  of  Marius  ;  and 
up  the  road  which  Adrian’s  scanty  troop  slowly  wound, 
had  echoed  the  march  of  the  murtherous  Sylla,  on  his 
return  from  the  Mithridatic  war.  Below,  where  the  city 
spread  towards  the  plain,  were  yet  seen  the  shattered  and 

*  Hence,  apparently,  its  Greek  name  of  Stephane.  Palestrina  is 
yet  one  of  the  many  proofs  which  the  vicinity  of  Rome  affords  of 
the  old  Greek  civilization  of  Italy. 


256 


RIENZI, 


roofless  columns  of  the  once  celebrated  Temple  of  For¬ 
tune  ;  and  still  the  immemorial  olives  clustered  grey  and 
mournfully  around  the  ruins. 

A  more  formidable  hold  the  barons  of  Rome  could 
not  have  selected  ;  and  as  Adrian’s  military  eye  scanned 
the  steep  ascent  and  the  rugged  walls,  he  felt  that  with 
ordinary  skill  it  might  defy  for  months  all  the  power  of 
the  Roman  Senator.  Below,  in  the  fertile  valley,  dis¬ 
mantled  cottages  and  trampled  harvests  attested  the  vio¬ 
lence  and  rapine  of  the  insurgent  barons ;  and  at  that 
very  moment  were  seen,  in  the  old  plain  of  the  warlike 
Hernici,  troops  of  armed  men,  driving  before  them  herds 
of  sheep  and  cattle,  collected  in  their  lawless  incursions. 
In  sight  of  that  Prceyieste  which  had  been  the  favorite 
retreat  of  the  luxurious  lords  of  Rome  in  its  most  polished 
day, 'the  Age  of  Iron  seemed  renewed. 

The  banner  of  the  Colonna,  borne  by  Adrian’s  troop, 
obtained  ready  admittance  at  the  POrta  del  Sole.  As  he 
passed  up  the  irregular  and  narrow  streets  that  ascended 
to  the  citadel,  groups  of  foreign  mercenaries, — half-ragged, 
half-tawdry  knots  of  abandoned  women, — mixed  here  and 
there  with  the  liveries  of  the  Colonna,  stood  loitering 
amidst  the  ruins  of  ancient  fanes  and  palaces,  or  basked 
lazily  in  the  sun,  upon  terraces,  through  which,  from 
amidst  weeds  and  grass  glowed  the  imperishable  hues  of 
the  rich  mosaics,  which  had  made  the  pride  of  that  let¬ 
tered  and  graceful  nobility,  of  whom  savage  freebooters 
were  now  the  heirs. 

The  contrast  between  the  past  and  present  forcibly 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


257 


occurred  to  Adrian,  as  he  passed  along ;  and,  despite  his 
order,  he  felt  as  if  civilization  itself  were  enlisted  against 
his  house  upon  the  side  of  Kienzi. 

Leaving  his  train  in  the  court  of  the  citadel,  Adrian 
demanded  admission  to  the  presence  of  his  cousin.  He 
had  left  Stefanello  a  child  on  his  departure  from  Rome, 
and  there  could  therefore  be  but  a  slight  and  unfamiliar 
acquaintance  betwixt  them,  despite  their  kindred. 

Peals  of  laughter  came  upon  his  ear,  as  he  followed 
one  of  Stefanello’s  gentlemen  through  a  winding  passage 
that  led  to  the  principal  chamber.  The  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Adrian  found  himself  in  a  rude  hall,  to  which 
some  appearance  of  hasty  state  and  attempted  comfort 
had  been  given.  Costly  arras  imperfectly  clothed  the 
stone  walls,  and  the  rich  seats  and  decorated  tables,  which 
the  growing  civilization  of  the  northern  cities  of  Italy 
had  already  introduced  into  the  palaces  of  Italian  nobles, 
strangely  contrasted  the  rough  pavement,  spread  with 
heaps  of  armor  negligently  piled  around.  At  the  farther 
end  of  the  apartment  Adrian  shudderingly  perceived,  set 
in  due  and  exact  order,  the  implements  of  torture. 

Stefanello  Colonna,  with  two  other  barons,  indolently 
reclined  on  seats  drawn  around  a  table,  in  the  recess  of  a 

f 

deep  casement,  from  which  might  be  still  seen  the  same 
glorious  landscapes,  bounded  by  the  dim  spires  of  Rome, 
which  Hannibal  and  Pyrrhus  had  ascended  that  very 
citadel  to  survey ! 

Stefanello  himself,  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  bore  al¬ 
ready  on  his  beardless  countenance  those  traces  usually 

22  *  R 


258 


R  I  E  N  Z  I, 


the  work  of  the  passions  and  vices  of  maturest  manhood. 
His  features  were  cast  in  the  mould  of  the  old  Stephen’s  ; 
in  their  clear,  sharp,  high-bred  outline  might  be  noticed 
that  regular  and  graceful  symmetry  which  blood,  in  men 
as  in  animals,  will  sometimes  entail  through  generations ; 
but  the  features  were  wasted  and  meagre.  His  brows 
were  knit  in  an  eternal  frown  ;  his  thin  and  bloodless  lips 
wore  that  insolent  contempt  which  seems  so  peculiarly 
cold  and  unlovely  in  early  youth  ;  and  the  deep  and  livid 
hollows  round  his  eyes  spoke  of  habitual  excess  and  pre¬ 
mature  exhaustion.  By  him  sat  (reconciled  by  hatred  to 
one  another)  the  hereditary  foes  of  his  race  ;  the  soft,  but 
cunning  and  astute  features  of  Luca  di  Savelli,  contrasted 
with  the  broad  frame  and  ferocious  countenance  of  the 
Prince  of  the  Orsini. 

The  young  head  of  the  Colonna  rose  with  some  cor¬ 
diality  to  receive  his  cousin.  “Welcome,”  he  said,  “dear 
Adrian  ;  you  are  arrived  in  time  to  assist  us  with  your 
well-known  military  skill.  Think  you  not  we  shall  stand 
a  long  siege,  if  the  insolent  plebeian  dare  adventure  it  ? 
You  know  our  friends,  the  Orsini  and  the  Savelli  I 
Thanks  to  St.  Peter,  or  Peter’s  delegate,  we  have  now 
happily  meaner  throats  to  cut  than  those  of  each  other  !  ” 

Thus  saying,  Stefanello  again  threw  himself  listlessly 
on  his  seat,  and  the  shrill,,  woman’s  voice  of  Savelli  took 
part  in  the  dialogue. 

“  I  would,  noble  signor,  that  you  had  come  a  few  hours 
earlier  ;  we  are  still  making  merry  at  the  recollection  — . 
he,  he,  he  !  ” 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


259 


“Ah,  excellent,”  cried  Stefanello,  joining  in  the  laugh  ; 
“  our  cousin  has  had  a  loss.  Know,  Adrian,  that  this 
base  fellow,  whom  the  pope  has  had  the  impudence  to 
create  Senator,  dared  but  yesterday,  to  send  us  a  varlet, 
whom  he  called  —  by  our  Lady  !  —  his  ambassador  ! 

“Would  you  could  have  seen  his  mantle.  Signor 
Adrian!”  chimed  in  the  Savelli :  “purple  velvet,  as  I 
live,  decorated  in  gold,  with  the  arms  of  Rome ;  we  soon 
spoiled  his  finery.” 

“  What  1  ”  exclaimed  Adrian,  “  you  did  not  break  the 
laws  of  all  nobility  and  knighthood?  —  you  offered  no 
insult  to  a  herald  !  ” 

“  Herald,  sayest  thou  ?  ”  cried  Stefanello,  frowning  till 
his  eyes  were  scarce  visible.  “  It  is  for  princes  and  barons 
alone  to  employ  heralds.  An’  I  had  had  my  will,  I  would 
have  sent  back  the  minion’s  head  to  the  usurper.’ 

“  What  did  ye  tlien  ?  ”  asked  Adrian,  coldly. 

“  Bade  our  swineherds  dip  the  fellow  in  the  ditch,  and 
gave  him  a  night’s  lodging  in  a  dungeon  to  dry  himself 
withal.” 

“And  this  morning  —  he,  he,  he  I  ”  added  the  Savelli, 
“  we  had  him  before  us,  and  drew  his  teeth,  one  by  one  ; 
—  I  would  you  could  have  heard  the -fellow  mumble  out 
for  mercy  !  ” 

Adrian  rose  hastily,  and  struck  the  table  fiercely  with 
his  gauntlet. 

“  Stefanello  Colonna,”  said  he,  coloring  with  noble 
rage,  “  answer  me  :  did  you  dare  to  inflict  this  indelible 
disgrace  upon  the  name  we  jointly  bear  ?  Tell  me,  at 


260 


RIENZI, 


least,  that  you  protested  against  this  foul  treason  to  all 
the  laws  of  civilization  and  of  honor.  You  answer  not. 
House  of  the  Colonna,  can  such  be  thy  representative  !  ” 
“  To  me  these  words  !  ”  said  Stefanello,  trembling  with 
passion.  “Beware  !  Methinks  thou  art  the  traitor,  leagued 
perhaps  with  yon  rascal  mob.  Well  do  I  remember 
that  thou,  the  betrothed  of  the  demagogue’s  sister,  didst 
not  join  with  my  uncle  and  my  father  of  old,  but  didst 
basely  leave  the  city  to  her  plebeian  tyrant.” 

“  That  did  he  !  ”  said  the  fierce  Orsini,  approaching 
idrian  menacingly,  while  the  gentle  cowardice  of  Savelli 
sought  in  vain  to  pluck  him  back  by  the  mantle  —  “  that 

did  he  !  and  but  for  thy  presence,  Stefanello  - - ” 

“  Coward  and  blusterer  1  ”  interrupted  Adrian,  fairly 
beside  himself  with  indignation  and  shame,  and  dashing 
his  gauntlet  in  the  very  face  of  the  advancing  Orsini  — 
“  wouldst  thou  threaten  one  who  has  maintained,  in  every 
list  of  Europe,  and  against  the  stoutest  chivalry  of  the 
North,  the  honor  of  Rome,  which  thy  deeds  the  while 
disgraced  ?  By  this  gage,  I  spit  upon  and  defy  thee. 
With  lance  and  with  brand,  on  horse  and  on  foot,  I 
maintain  against  thee  and  all  thy  line,  that  thou  art  no 
knight  to  have  thus  maltreated,  in  thy  strong-hold,  a 
peaceful  and  unarmed  herald.  Yes,  even  here,  on  the 
spot  of  thy  disgrace,  I  challenge  thee  to  arms  !  ” 

“To  the  court  below  I  Follow  me,”  said  Orsini,  sul¬ 
lenly,  and  striding  towards  the  threshold.  “What,  ho 
there  !  my  helmet  and  breast-plate  I  ” 

“  Stay,  noble  Orsini,”  said  Stefanello.  “  The  insult 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


261 


offered  to  thee  is  my  quarrel  — mine  was  the  deed  —  and 
against  me  speaks  this  degenerate  scion  of  our  line. 
Adrian  di  Gastello — sometime  called  Colonna — surrender 
your  sword :  you  are  my  prisoner  1  ” 

“  Oh  !  ”  said  Adrian,  grinding  his  teeth,  “  that  my  an¬ 
cestral  blood  did  not  flow  through  thy  veins  —  else — but 
enough  !  Me  !  your  equal,  and  the  favored  Knight  of 
the  Emperor,  whose  advent  now  brightens  the  frontiers 
of  Italy  !  —  me — you  dare  not  detain.  For  your  friends, 
I  shall  meet  them  yet  perhaps,  ere  many  days  are  over, 
where  none  shall  separate  our  swords.  Till  then,  remem¬ 
ber,  Orsini,  that  it  is  against  no  unpractised  arm  that 
thou  wilt  have  to  redeem  thine  honor  !  ” 

Adrian,  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  strode  towards 
the  door,  and  passed  the  Orsini,  who  stood,  lowering  and 
irresolute,  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment. 

Savelli  whispered  Stefanello.  “He  says,  ‘Ere  many 
days  be  past !  ’  Be  sure,  dear  signor,  that  he  goes  to 
join  Bienzi.  Remember,  the  alliance  he  once  sought 
with  the  Tribune’s  sister  may  be  renewed.  Beware  of 
him  I  Ought  he  to  leave  the  castle  ?  The  name  of  a 
Colonna,  associated  with  the  mob,  would  distract  and 
divide  half  our  strength.” 

“Fear  me  not,”  returned  Stefanello,  with  a  malignant 
smile.  “  Ere  you  spoke,  I  had  determined  !  ” 

The  young  Colonna  lifted  the  arras  from  the  wall, 
opened  a  door,  and  passed  into  a  low  hall,  in  which  sat 
twenty  mercenaries. 


262 


RIENZI, 


“  Quick  !  ’’  said  he.  “  Seize  and  disarm  yon  stranger 
in  the  green  mantle  —  but  slay  him  not.  Bid  the  guard 
below  find  dungeons  for  his  train.  Quick  I  ere  he  reach 
the  gate.” 

Adrian  had  gained  the  open  hall  below — his  train  and 
his  steed  were  in  sight  in  the  court — when  suddenly  the 
soldiery  of  the  Colonna,  rushing  through  another  passage 
than  that  which  he  had  passed,  surrounded  and  inter¬ 
cepted  his  retreat. 

“Yield  thee,  Adrian  di  Gastello,”  cried  Stefanello 
from  the  summit  of  the  stairs  ;  “  or  your  blood  be  on 
your  own  head.” 

Three  steps  did  Adrian  make  through  the  press,  and 
three  of  his  enemies  fell  beneath  his  sword.  “  To  the 
rescue  !  ”  he  shouted  to  his  band,  and  already  those  bold 
and  daring  troopers  had  gained  the  hall.  Presently  the 
alarum-bell  tolled  loud — the  court  swarmed  with  soldiers. 
Oppressed  by  numbers,  beat  down  rather  than  subdued, 
Adrian’s  little  train  was  soon  secured,  and  the  flower  of 
the  Colonna,  wounded,  breathless,  disarmed,  but  still 
uttering  loud  defiance,  was  a  prisoner  in  the  fortress  of 
his  kinsman. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


263 


CHAPTER  IT. 

The  position  of  the  Senator.  —  The  work  of  years.  —  The  reward 

of  Ambition. 

The  indignation  of  Rienzi  may  readily  be  conceived 
on  the  return  of  his  herald  mutilated  and  dishonored. 
His  temper,  so  naturally  stern,  was  rendered  yet  more 
hard  by  the  remembrance  of  his  wrongs  and  trials ;  and 
the  result  which  attended  his  overtures  of  conciliation  to 
Stefanello  Colonna  stung  him  to  the  soul. 

The  bell  of  the  Capitol  tolled  to  arms  within  ten 
minutes  after  the  return  of  the  herald.  The  great  gon¬ 
falon  of  Rome  was  unfurled  on  the  highest  tower ;  and 
the  very  evening  after  Adrian’s  arrest,  the  forces  of  the 
Senator,  headed  by  Rienzi  in  person,  were  on  the  road 
to  Palestrina.  The  troopers  of  the  barons  had,  how¬ 
ever,  made  incursions  as  far  as  Tivoli  with  the  supposed 
connivance  of  the  inhabitants,  and  Rienzi  halted  at  that 
beautiful  spot  to  raise  recruits,  and  receive  the  allegiance 
of  the  suspected,  while  his  soldiers,  with  Arimbaldo  and 
Brettone  at  their  head,  went  in  search  of  the  marauders. 
The  brothers  of  Montreal  returned  late  at  night  with  the 
intelligence  that  the  troopers  of  the  barons  had  secured 
themselves  amidst  the  recesses  of  the  wood  of  Pantano. 

The  red  spot  mounted  to  Rienzi’s  brow.  He  gazed 
hard  at  Brettone,  who  stated  the  news  to  him,  and  a 
natural  suspicion  shot  across  his  mind. 


264 


RIENZI, 


“  How  I — escaped  !”  he  said.  “  Is  it  possible  ?  Enough 
of  such  idle  skirmishes  with  these  lordly  robbers.  Will 
the  hour  ever  come  w^hen  I  shall  meet  them  hand  to 
hand  ?  Brettone,”  and  the  brother  of  Montreal  felt  the 
dark  eye  of  Rienzi  pierce  to  his  very  heart ;  “Brettone 
said  he,  with  an  abrupt  change  of  voice,  “  are  your  men 
to  be  trusted  ?  ”  Is  there  no  connivance  with  the  barons 

“  How  I  ”  said  Brettone,  sullenly,  but  somewhat  con¬ 
fused. 

“  How  me  no  hows  !  ”  quoth  the  Tribune-Senator, 
fiercely.  “  I  know  that  thou  art  a  valiant  captain  of 
valiant  men.  Thou  and  thy  brother  Arimbaldo  have 
served  me  well,  and  I  have  rewarded  ye  well !  Have  I 
not?  Speak  I” 

“Senator,”  answered  Arimbaldo,  taking  up  the  word, 
“you  have  kept  your  word  to  us.  You  have  raised  us 
to  the  highest  rank  your  power  could  bestow,  and  this 
has  amply  atoned  our  humble  services.” 

“  I  am  glad  ye  allow  thus  much,”  said  the  Tribune. 

Arimbaldo  proceeded,  somewhat  more  loftily,  “  I  trust, 
my  lord,  you  do  not  doubt  us?” 

“Arimbaldo,”  replied  Rienzi,  in  a  voice  of  deep,  but 
half-suppressed  emotion  ;  “  you  are  a  lettered  man,  and 
you  have  seemed  to  share  my  projects  for  the  regenera¬ 
tion  of  our  common  kind.  You  ought  not  to  betray  me. 
There  is  something  in  unison  between  us.  But,  chide 
me  not,  I  am  surrounded  by  treason,  and  the  very  air  I 
breathe  seems  poison  to  my  lips.” 

There  was  a  pathos  mingled  with  Rienzi’s  words  which 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


265 


touched  the  milder  brother  of  Montreal.  He  bowed  in 
silence.  Hienzi  surveyed  him  wistfully,  and  sighed. 
Then,  changing  the  conversation,  he  spoke  of  their  in¬ 
tended  siege  of  Palestrina,  and  shortly  afterwards  retired 
to  rest. 

Left  alone,  the  brothers  regarded  each  other  for  some 
moments  in  silence.  “Brettone,’^  said  Arimbaldo  at 
length,  in  a  whispered  voice,  “  my  heart  misgives  me.  I 
like  not  Walter’s  ambitious  schemes.  With  our  own 
countrymen  we  are  frank  and  loyal,  why  play  the  traitor 
with  this  high-souled  Roman  ?  ”  * 

“  Tush  1  ”  said  Brettone.  “  Our  brother’s  hand  of  iron 
alone  can  sway  this  turbulent  people  ;  and  if  Rienzi  be 
betrayed,  so  also  are  his  enemies,  the  barons.  Ho  more 
of  this  I  I  have  tidings  from  Montreal  j  he  will  be  in 
Rome  in  a  few  days.” 

“And  then  ?  ” 

“  Rienzi,  weakened  by  the  barons  (for  he  must  not 
conquer)  —  the  barons  weakened  by  Rienzi  —  our  North¬ 
men  seize  the  Capitol,  and  the  soldiery,  now  scattered 
throughout  Italy,  will  fly  to  the  standard  of  the  Great 
Captain.  Montreal  must  be  first  Podesta,  then  King  of 
Rome.” 


*  The  anonymous  biographer  of  Rienzi  makes  the  following  just 
remark: — “  Sono  li  Tedeschi,  come  discendon  de  la  Alemagna, 
semplici,  puri,  senza  fraude,  come  si  allocano  tra  ’taliani,  diventano 
mastri  coduti,  viziosi,  che  sentono  ogni  malizia.”  —  Vit.  di  Cal.  di 
Rienzi,  lib.  ii.  cap.  16. 

II.  — 23 


266 


RIENZI, 


Arimbaldo  moved  restlessly  in  his  seat,  and  the  brethren 
conferred  no  more  on  their  projects. 

The  situation  of  Rienzi  was  precisely  that  which  tends 
the  most  to  sour  and  to  harden  the  fairest  nature.  With 
an  intellect  capable  of  the  grandest  designs,  a  heart  that 
beat  with  the  loftiest  emotions,  elevated  to  the  sunny 
pinnacle  of  power,  and  surrounded  by  loud-tongued  adu¬ 
lators,  he  knew  not  among  men  a  single  breast  in  which  • 
he  could  confide.  He  was  as  one  on  a  steep  ascent, 
whose  footing  crumbles,  while  every  bough  at  which  he 
grasps  seems  to  rot  at  his  touch.  He  found  the  pepple 
more  than  ever  eloquent  in  his  favor,  but  while  they 
shouted  raptures  as  he  passed,  not  a  man  was  capable  of 
making  a  sacrifice  for  him !  The  liberty  of  a  state  is 
never  achieved  by  a  single  individual  j  if  not  the  people 
—  if  not  the  greater  number  —  a  zealous  and  fervent 
minority,  at  least,  must  go  hand  in  hand  with  him.  Rome 
demanded  sacrifices  in  all  who  sought  the  Roman  re¬ 
generation —  sacrifices  of  time,  ease,  and  money.  The 
crowd  followed  the  procession  of  the  Senator,  but  not  a 
single  Roman  devoted  his  life,  unpaid,  to  his  standard ; 
not  a  single  coin  was  subscribed  in  the  defence  of  freedom. 
Against  him  were  arrayed  the  most  powerful  and  the 
most  ferocious  barons  of  Italy ;  each  of  whom  could 
maintain,  at  his  own  cost,  a  little  army  of  practised 
warriors.  With  Rienzi  were  traders  and  artificers,  who 
were  willing  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  liberty,  but  not  to 
labor  at  the  soil ;  who  demanded,  in  return  for  empty 
shouts,  peace  and  riches  j  and  who  expected  that  one 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  26T 

man  was  to  effect  in  a  day  what  would  be  cheaply  pur¬ 
chased  by  the  struggle  of  a  generation.  All  their  dark 
and  rude  notion  of  a  reformed  state  was  to  live  un¬ 
butchered  by  the  barons  and  untaxed  by  their  governors. 
Rome,  I  say,  gave  to  her  Senator  not  a  free  arm,  nor  a 
voluntary  florin.*  Well  aware  of  the  danger  which  sur¬ 
rounds  the  ruler  who  defends  his  state  by  foreign  swords, 
the  fondest  wish  and  the  most  visionary  dream  of  Rienzi, 
was  to  revive  amongst  the  Romans,  in  their  first  en¬ 
thusiasm  at  his  return,  an  organized  and  voluntary  force, 
who,  in  protecting  him  would  protect  themselves  :  —  not, 
as  before,  in  his  first  power,  a  nominal  force  of  twenty 
thousand  men,  who  at  any  hour  might  yield  (as  they  did 
yield)  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  ;  but  a  regular,  well-dis¬ 
ciplined,  and  trusty  body,  numerous  enough  to  resist 
aggression,  not  numerous  enough  to  become  themselves 
the  aggressors. 

Hitherto  all  his  private  endeavors,  his  public  exhorta¬ 
tions,  had  failed  ;  the  crowd  listened  —  shouted  —  saw 
him  quit  the  city  to  meet  their  tyrants,  and  returned  to 
their  shops,  saying  to  each  other,  “  What  a  great  man  !  ’’ 

The  character  of  Rienzi  has  chiefly  received  for  its 
judges  men  of  the  closet,  who  speculate  upon  human 
beings  as  if  they  were  machines ;  who  gauge  the  great, 
not  by  their  merit,  but  their  success  :  and  who  have  cen¬ 
sured  or  sneered  at  the  Tribune,  where  they  should  have 
condemned  the  People  !  Had  but  one-half  the  spirit 


*  This  plain  fact  is  thoroughly  borne  out  by  every  authority. 


268 


RIENZI, 


been  found  in  Rome  which  ran  through  a  single  vein  of 
Cola  di  Rienzi,  the  august  Republic,  if  not  the  majestic 
Empire  of  Rome,  might  be  existing  now  I  Turning  from 
the  people,  the  Senator  saw  his  rude  and  savage  troops, 
accustomed  to  the  license  of  a  tyrant’s  camp,  and  under 
commanders  in  whom  it  was  ruin  really  to  confide — 
whom  it  was  equal  ruin  openly  to  distrust.  Hemmed  in 
on  every  side  by  dangers,  his  character  daily  grew  more 
restless,  vigilant,  and  stern  :  and  still,  with  all  the  aims 
of  the  patriot,  he  felt  all  the  curses  of  the  tyrant.  With¬ 
out  the  rough  and  hardened  career  which,  through  a  life 
of  warfare,  had  brought  Cromwell  to  a  similar  power  — 
with  more  of  grace  and  intellectual  softness  in  his  com¬ 
position,  he  resembled  that  yet  greater  man  in  some 

♦ 

points  of  character  —  in  his  religious  enthusiasm;  his 
rigid  justice,  often  forced  by  circumstance  into  severity, 
but  never  wantonly  cruel  or  bloodthirsty ;  in  his  singular 
pride  of  country ;  and  his  mysterious  command  over  the 
minds  of  others.  But  he  resembled  the  giant  Englishman 
far  more  in  circumstance  than  original  nature,  and  that 
circumstance  assimilated  their  characters  at  the  close  of 
their  several  careers.  Like  Cromwell,  beset  by  secret  or 
open  foes,  the  assassin’s  dagger  ever  gleamed  before  his 
eyes ;  and  his  stout  heart,  unawed  by  real,  trembled  at 
imagined,  terrors.  The  countenance  changing  suddenly 
from  red  to  white — the  bloodshot,  restless  eye,  belying 
the  composed  majesty  of  mien  —  the  muttering  lips — the 
broken  slumber  —  the  secret  corselet; — these  to  both 
were  the  rewards  of  Power  I 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


269 


The  elasticity  of  youth  had  left  the  Tribune !  His 
frame,  which  had  endured  so  many  shocks,  had  contracted 
a  painful  disease  in  the  dungeon  at  Avignon  *  —  his  high 
soul  still  supported  him,  but  the  nerves  gave  way.  Tears 
came  readily  into  his  eyes,  and  often,  like  Cromwell,  he 
was  thought  to  weep  from  hypocrisy,  when  in  truth  it  was 
the  hysteric  of  overwrought  and  irritable  emotion.  In 
all  his  former  life  singularly  temperate,^  he  now  fled  from 
his  goading  thoughts  to  the  beguiling  excitement  of 
wine.  He  drank  deep,  though  its  effects  were  never 
visible  upon  him  except  in  a  freer  and  wilder  mood,  and 
the  indulgence  of  that  racy  humor,  half-mirthful,  half¬ 
bitter,  for  which  his  younger  day  had  been  distinguished. 
Now  the  mirth  had  more  loudness,  but  the  bitterness 
more  gall. 

Such  were  the  characteristics  of  Rienzi  at  his  return 
to  power  —  made  more  apparent  with  every  day.  Nina 
he  still  loved  with  the  same  tenderness,  and,  if  possible, 
she  adored  him  more  than  ever :  but,  the  zest  and  fresh¬ 
ness  of  triumphant  ambition  gone,  somehow  or  other, 
their  intercourse  together  had  not  its  old  charm.  For¬ 
merly  they  talked  constantly  of  the  future — of  the  bright 
days  in  store  for  them.  Now,  with  a  sharp  and  uneasy 

*  “  Dicca  che  ne  la  prigione  era  state  ascarmato.” — Vit.  di  Col. 
di  Rienzi,  lib.ii.  cap.  18. 

■}■  “  Solea  prima  esser  sobrio,  temperate,  astinente,  era  e  dlven- 
tate  distemperatissime  bevitere,”  &c.  —  Ibid.  (At  first  he  used  te 
be  seber,  temperate,  abstinent ;  new  he  is  beceme  a  mest  intempe¬ 
rate  drinker,  &c.) 

23* 


1 


270  RIENZI, 

pang,  Rienzi  turned  from  all  thought  of  that  “  gay  to¬ 
morrow.”  There  was  no  “gay  to-morrow”  for  him! 
Dark  and  thorny  as  was  the  present  hour,  all  beyond 
seemed  yet  less  cheering  and  more  ominous.  Still  he  had 
some  moments,  brief  but  brilliant,  when,  forgetting  the 
iron  race  amongst  whom  he  was  thrown,  he  plunged  into 
the  scholastic  reveries  of  the  worshipped  Past,  and  half 
fancied  that  he  was  of  a  People  worthy  of  his  genius  and 
his  devotion.  Like  most  men  who  have  been  preserved 
through  great  dangers,  he  continued  with  increasing  fond¬ 
ness  to  nourish  a  credulous  belief  in  the  grandeur  of  his 
own  destiny.  He  could  not  imagine  that  he  had  been  so 
delivered,  and  for  no  end  1  He  was  the  Elected,  and 
therefore  the  Instrument  of  Heaven.  And  thus,  that 
Bible  which  in  his  loneliness,  his  wanderings,  and  his 
prison,  had  been  his  solace  and  support,  was  more  than 
ever  needed  in  his  greatness. 

It  was  another  cause  of  sorrow  and  chagrin  to  one 

who,  amidst  such  circumstances  of  public  danger,  required 

so  peculiarly  the  support  and  sympathy  of  private  friends, 

that  he  found  he  had  incurred  amongst  his  old  coadjutors 

the  common  penalty  of  absence.  A  few  were  dead ; 

others,  wearied  with  the  storms  of  public  life,  and  chilled 

> 

in  their  ardor  by  the  turbulent  revolutions  to  which,  in 
every  effort  for  her  amelioration,  Rome  had  been  subject¬ 
ed,  had  retired,  —  some  altogether  from  the  city,  some 
from  all  participation  in  political  affairs.  In  his  halls, 
the  Tribune-Senator  was  surrounded  by  unfamiliar  faces, 
and  a  new  generation.  Of  the  heads  of  the  popular 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


271 


party,  most  were  animated  by  a  stern  dislike  to  the  pon¬ 
tifical  domination,  and  looked  with  suspicion  and  repug¬ 
nance  upon  one  who,  if  he  governed  for  the  people,  had 
been  trusted  and  honored  by  the  pope.  Rienzi  was  not 
a  man  to  forget  former  friends,  however  lowly,  and  had 
already  found  time  to  seek  an  interview  with  Cecco  del 
Yecchio.  But  that  stern  republican  had  received  him 
with  coldness.  His  foreign  mercenaries,  and  his  title  of 
Senator,  were  things  that  the  artisan  could  not  digest. 
With  his  usual  bluntness,  he  had  said  so  to  Rienzi. 

“  As  for  the  last,”  answered  the  Tribune,  affably, 
“names  do  not  alter  natures.  When  I  forget  that  to  be 
delegate  to  the  pontiff  is  to  be  the  guardian  of  his  flock, 
forsake  me.  As  for  the  first,  let  me  but  see  five  hundred 
Romans  sworn  to  stand  armed  day  and  night  for  the 
defence  of  Rome,  and  I  dismiss  the  Northmen.” 

Cecco  del  Yecchio  was  unsoftened;  honest,  but  un¬ 
educated —  impracticable,  and  by  nature  a  malcontent, 
he  felt  as  if  he  were  no  longer  necessary  to  the  Senator, 
and  this  offended  his  pride.  Strange  as  it  may  seem, 
the  sullen  artisan  bore,  too,  a  secret  grudge  against 
Rienzi,  for  not  having  seen  and  selected  him  from  a 
crowd  of  thousands  on  the  day  of  his  triumphal  entry. 
Such  are  the  small  offences  which  produce  deep  danger 
to  the  great ! 

The  artisans  still  held  their  meetings,  and  Cecco  del 
Yecchio’s  voice  was  heard  loud  in  grumbling  forebodings. 
But  what  wounded  Rienzi  yet  more  than  the  alienation 
of  the  rest,  was  the  confused  and  altered  manner  of  his 


272 


RIENZI, 


old  friend  and  familiar,  Pandulfo  di  Guido.  Missing  that 
popular  citizen  among  those  who  daily  offered  their 
homage  at  the  Capitol,  he  had  sent  for  him,  and  sought 
in  vain  to  revive  their  ancient  intimacy.  Pandulfo 
affected  great  respect,  but  not  all  the  condescension  of 
the  Senator  could  conquer  his  distance  and  his  restraint. 
In  fact,  Pandulfo  had  learned  to  form  ambitious  projects 
of  his  own ;  and  but  for  the  return  of  Rienzi,  Pandulfo 
di  Guido  felt  that  he  might  now,  with  greater  safety,  and 
indeed  with  some  connivance  from  the  barons,  have  been 
the  Tribune  of  the  people.  The  facility  to  rise  into 
popular  eminence  which  a  disordered  and  corrupt  state, 
unblest  by  a  regular  constitution,  offers  to  ambition, 
breeds  the  jealousy  and  the  rivalship  which  destroy  union 
and  rot  away  the  ties  of  party. 

Such  was  the  situation  of  Rienzi,  and  yet,  wonderful  to 
say,  he  seemed  to  be  adored  by  the  multitude  ;  and  law 
and  liberty,  life  and  death,  were  in  his  hands  ! 

Of  all  those  who  attended  his  person,  Angelo  Yillani 
was  the  most  favored ;  that  youth,  who  had  accompanied 
Rienzi  in  his  long  exile,  had  also,  at  the  wish  of  Nina, 
attended  him  from  Avignon,  through  his  sojourn  in  the 
camp  of  Albornoz.  His  zeal,  intelligence,  and  frank  and 
evident  affection,  blinded  the  senator  to  the  faults  of  his 
character,  and  established  him  more  and  more  in  the 
gratitude  of  Rienzi.  He  loved  to  feel  that  one  faithful 
heart  beat  near  him ;  and  the  page,  raised  to  the  rank  of 
his  chamberlain,  always  attended  his  person,  and  slept 
in  his  ante-chamber. 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


213 


Retiring  that  night  at  Tivoli,  to  the  apartment  pre¬ 
pared  for  him,  the  Senator  sat  down  by  the  open  case¬ 
ment,  through  which  were  seen,  waving  in  the  starlight, 
the  dark  pines  that  crowned  the  hills,  while  the  stillness 
of  the  hour  gave  to  his  ear  the  dash  of  the  waterfalls 
heard  above  the  regular  and  measured  tread  of  the  sen¬ 
tinels  below.  Leaning  his  cheek  upon  his  hand,  Rienzi 
long  surrendered  himself  to  gloomy  thought,  and,  when 
he  looked  uj),  he  saw  the  bright  blue  eye  of  Yillani  fixed 
in  anxious  sympathy  on  his  countenance. 

“  Is  my  lord  unwell  ?  ”  asked  the  young  chamberlain, 
hesitating. 

“  Not  so,  my  Angelo ;  but  somew'hat  sick  at  heart*. 
Methinks,  for  a  September  night,  the  air  is  chill  I  ” 

“Angelo,”  resumed  Rienzi,  who  had  already  acquired 
that  uneasy  curiosity  which  belongs  to  an  uncertain 
power,  —  “  Angelo,  bring  me  hither  yon  writing  imple¬ 
ments  ;  hast  thou  heard  aught  what  the  men  say  of  our 
probable  success  against  Palestrina  ?  ” 

“  Would  my  lord  wish  to  learn  all  their  gossip,  whether 
it  please  or  not  ?  ”  answered  Yillani. 

“  If  I  studied  only  to  hear  what  pleased  me,  Angelo,  I 
should  never  have  returned  to  Rome.” 

“Why,  then,  I  heard  a  constable  of  the  Northmen  say, 
meaningly,  that  the  place  will  not  be  carried.” 

“  Humph  !  And  what  said  the  captains  of  my  Roman 
Legion  ?  ” 

“  My  lord,  I  have  heard  it  whispered  that  they  fear 

s 


2H  RIENZI, 

defeat  less  than  they  do  the  revenge  of  the  barons,  if  they 
are  successful.” 

‘‘And  with  such  tools  the  living  race  of  Europe  and 
misjudging  posterity  will  deem  that  the  workman  is  to 
shape  out  the  Ideal  and  the  Perfect !  Bring  me  yon 
Bible.” 

As  Angelo  reverently  brought  to  Rienzi  the  sacred 
book,  he  said  — 

“Just  before  I  left  my  companions  below,  there  was  a 
rumor  that  the  Lord  Adrian  Colonna  had  been  imprisoned 
by  his  kinsman.” 

“  I  too  heard,  and  I  believe,  as  much,”  returned  ’Ri¬ 
enzi  :  “these  barons  would  gibbet  their  own  children  in 
irons,  if  there  were  any  chance  of  the  shackles  growing 
rusty  for  want  of  prey.  But  the  wicked  shall  be  brought 
low,  and  their  strong  places  shall  be  made  desolate.” 

“I  would,  my  lord,”  said  Yillani,  “that  our  Northmen 
had  other  captains  than  these  Proven9als.” 

“  Why  ?  ”  asked  Rienzi,  abruptly. 

“  Have  the  creatures  of  the  Captain  of  the  Grand  Com¬ 
pany  ever  held  faith  with  any  man  whom  it  suited  the 
avarice  or  the  ambition  of  Montreal  to  betray  ?  Was  he 
not,  a  few  months  ago,  the  right  arm  of  John  di  Yico, 
and  did  he  not  sell  his  services  to  John  di  Yico’s  enemy, 
the  Cardinal  Albornoz  ?  These  warriors  barter  men  as 
cattle.” 

“  Thou  describest  Montreal  rightly  :  a  dangerous  and 
an  awful  man.  But  methinks  his  brothers  are  of  a  duller 
and  meaner  kind  ;  they  dare  not  the  crimes  of  the  Robber 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


275 


Captain.  Howbeit,  Angelo,  tbou  hast  touched  a  string 
that  will  make  discord  with  sleep  to-night.  Fair  youth, 
thy  young  eyes  have  need  of  slumber ;  withdraw,  and  when 
thou  hearest  men  envy  Rienzi,  think  that - 

“  God  never  made  genius*  to  be  envied  !  ”  interrupted 
Yillani,  with  an  energy  that  overcame  his  respect.  ‘^We 
envy  not  the  sun,  but  rather  the  valleys  that  ripen  beneath 
his  beams.” 

“  Yerily,  if  I  be  the  sun,”  said  Rienzi,  with  a  bitter  and 
melancholy  smile,  “  I  long  for  night,  —  and  come  it  will, 
to  the  human  as  to  the  celestial  pilgrim  ! — Thank  Heaven, 
at  least,  that  our  ambition  cannot  make  us  immortal  I  ” 


CHAPTER  Y. 

The  Biter  bit. 

The  next  morning,  when  Rienzi  descended  to  the  room 
where  his  .captains  awaited  him,  his  quick  eye  perceived 
that  a  cloud  still  lowered  upon  the  brow  of  Messere  Bret- 
tone.  Arimbaldo,  sheltered  by  the  recess  of  the  rude 
casement,  shunned  his  eye. 

“A  fair  morning,  gentles,”  said  Rienzi ;  “  the  sun 
laughs  upon  our  enterprise.  I  have  messengers  from 
Rome  betimes  —  fresh  troops  will  join  us  ere  noon.” 

“I  am  glad.  Senator,”  answered  Brettone,  “that  you 
have  tidings  which  will  counteract  the  ill  of  those  I  have 
to  narrate  to  thee.  The  soldiers  murmur  loudly  —  their 


276 


RIENZI, 

pay  is  due  to  them  ;  and,  I  fear  me,  that  without  money 
they  will  not  march  to  Palestrina.” 

As  they  will,”  returned  Rienzi,  carelessly.  “It  is 

but  a  few  days  since  they  entered  Rome ;  pay  did  they 

# 

receive  in  advance — if  they  demand  more,  the  Colonna 
and  Orsini  may  outbid  me.  Draw  off  your  soldiers,  sir 
knight,  and  farewell.” 

Brettone’s  countenance  fell  —  it  was  his  object  to  get 
Rienzi  more  and  more  in  his  power,  and  he  wished  not 
to  suffer  him  to  gain  that  strength  which  would  accrue  to 
him  from  the  fall  of  Palestrina :  the  indifference  of  the 
Senator  foiled  and  entrapped  him  in  his  own  net. 

“  That  must  not  be,”  said  the  brother  of  Montreal, 
after  a  confused  silence  ;  “  we  cannot  leave  you  thus  to 
your  enemies  —  the  soldiers,  it  is  true,  demand  pay - ” 

“And  should  have  it,”  said  Rienzi.  “  I  know  these 
mercenaries  —  it  is  ever  with  them,  mutiny  or  money.  I 
will  throw  myself  on  my  Romans,  and  triumph  —  or  fall, 
if  so  Heaven  decrees,  with  them.  Acquaint  your  con¬ 
stables  with  my  resolve.” 

Scarce  were  these  words  spoken,  ere,  as  previously 
concerted  with  Brettone,  the  chief  constable  of  the  mer¬ 
cenaries  appeared  at  the  door.  “  Senator,”  said  he,  with 
a  rough  semblance  of  aspect,  “  your  orders  to  march  have 
reached  me,  I  have  sought  to  marshal  my  men — but ” 

“I  know'  what  thou  wouldst  say,  friend,”  interrupted 
Rienzi,  waving  his  hand  :  “  Messere  Br^tone  will  give 
you  my  reply.  Another  time,  sir  captain,  more  ceremony 
with  the  Senator  of  Rome  —  you  may  withdraw.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


The  unforeseen  dignity  of  Rienzi  rebuked  and  abashed 
the  constable ;  he  looked  at  Brettone,  who  motioned  him 
to  depart.  He  closed  the  door  and  withdrew. 

“What  is  to  be  done?”  said  Brettone.  ^ 

“  Sir  knight,”  replied  Rienzi,  gravely,  “  let  us  under¬ 
stand  each  other.  Would  you  serve  me  or  not?  If  the 
first,  you  are  not  my  equal,  but  subordinate  —  and  you 
must  obey  and  not  dictate  ;  if  the  last,  my  debt  to  you 
shall  be  discharged,  and  the  world  is  wide  enough  for 
both.” 

“We  have  declared  allegiance  to  you,”  answered 
Brettone;  “and  it  shall  be  given.” 

“  One  caution  before  I  re-accept  your  fealty,”  replied 
Rienzi,  very  slowly.  “  For  an  .open  foe,  I  have  my 
sword  —  for  a  traitor,  mark  me,  Rome  has  the  axe  ;  of 
the  first,  I  have  no  fear;  for  the  last,  no  mercy.” 

“  These  are  not  words  that  should  pass  between 
friends,”  said  Brettone,  turning  pale  with  suppressed 
emotion. 

“  Friends  ! — ye  are  my  friends,  then  !  —  your  hands  I 
Friends,  so  ye  are  !  —  and  shall  prove  it  I  Dear  Arim- 
baldo,  thou,  like  myself,  art  book-learned,  —  a  clerkly 
soldier.  Dost  thou  remember  how  in  the  Roman  history 
it  is  told  that  the  treasury  lacked  money  for  the  soldiers  ? 
The  consul  convened  the  nobles.  ‘Ye,’  said  he,  ‘that 
have  the  offices  and  dignity,  should  be  the  first  to  pay  for 
them.’  Ye,  heed  me,  my  friends;  the  nobles  took  the 
hint,  they  found  the  money  —  the  army  was  paid.  This 
example  is  not  lost  on  you.  I  have  made  you  the  leaders 

II. —  24 


278 


RIENZI, 


of  my  force,  Rome  hath  showered  her  honors  on  you. 
Your  generosity  shall  commence  the  example  which  the 
Romans  shall  thus  learn  of  strangers.  Ye  gaze  at  me, 
my  friends!  I  read  your  noble  souls — and  thank  ye 
beforehand.  Ye  have  the  dignity  and  the  office  ;  ye  have 
also  the  wealth  !  —  pay  the  hirelings,  pay  them  I  ”  * 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  at  the  feet  of  Brettone,  he 
could  not  have  been  more  astounded  than  at  this  simple 
suggestion  of  Rienzi’s.  He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  Senator’s 
face,  and  saw  there  that  smile  which  he  had  already, 
bold  as  he  was,  learned  to  dread.  He  felt  himself  fairly 
sunk  in  the  pit  he  had  digged  for  another.  There  was 
that  in  the  Senator-Tribune’s  brow  that  told  him  to 
refuse  was  to  declare  open  war,  and  the  moment  was  not 
ripe  for  that. 

“Ye  accede,”  said  Rienzi,  “ye  have  done  well.” 

The  Senator  clapped  his  hands  —  his  guard  ap¬ 
peared. 

“  Summon  the  head  constables  of  the  soldiery.” 

The  brothers  still  remained  dumb. 

The  constables  entered. 

“  My  friends,”  said  Rienzi,  “  Messere  Brettone  and 
Messere  Arimbaldo  have  my  directions  to  divide  amongst 
your  force  a  thousand  florins.  This  evening  we  encamp 
beneath  Palestrina.” 

The  constables  withdrew  in  visible  surprise.  Rienzi 
gazed  a  moment  on  the  brothers,  chuckling  within  him- 


*  See  the  anonymous  bio^apher,  lib.  ii.  cap.  19. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES  219 

self — for  his  sarcastic  humor  enjoyed  his  triumph.  “You 
lament  not  your  devotion,  my  frieyids  ! 

“No,”  said  Brettone,  rousing  himself,  “the  sum  but 
trivially  swells  our  debt.” 

“Frankly  said  —  your  hands  once  more  !  —  the  good 
people  of  Tivoli  expect  me  in  the  Piazza  —  they  require 
some  admonitions.  Adieu  till  noon.” 

When  the  door  closed  on  Bienzi,  Brettone  struck  the 
handle  of  his  sword  fiercely — “The  Roman  laughs  at 
us,”  said  he.  “But  let  Walter  de  Montreal  once  appear 
in  Rome,  and  the  proud  jester  shall  pay  us  dearly  for 
this.” 

“  Hush  !  ”  said  Arimbaldo,  “  walls  have  ears,  and  that 
imp  of  Satan,  young  Yillani,  seems  to  me  ever  at  our 
heels  !  ” 

“A  thousand  florins  !  I  trust  his  heart  hath  as  many 
drops,”  growled  the  chafed  Brettone,,  unheeding  his 
brother. 

The  soldiers  were  paid — the  army  marched — the  elo¬ 
quence  of  the  Senator  had  augmented  his  force  by  volun¬ 
teers  from  Tivoli,  and  wild  and  half  -  armed  peasantry 
joined  his  standard  from  the  Campagna  and  the  neigh¬ 
boring  mountains. 

Palestrina  was  besieged  :  Rienzi  continued  dexterously 
to  watch  the  brothers  of  Montreal.  Under  pretext  of 
imparting  to  the  Italian  volunteers  the  advantage  of 
their  military  science,  he  separated  them  from  their 
mercenaries,  and  assigned  to  them  the  command  of  the 
less  disciplined  Italians,  with  whom,  he  believed,  they 


280 


RIENZI, 


could  not  venture  to  tamper.  He  himself  assumed  the 
lead  of  the  Northmen  —  and,  despite  themselves,  they 
were  fascinated  by  his  artful,  yet  dignified  affability,  and 
the  personal  courage  he  displayed  in  some  sallies  of  the 
besieged  barons.  But  as  the  huntsmen  upon  all  the 
subtlest  windings  of  their  prey,  —  so  pressed  the  relent¬ 
less  and  speeding  Fates  upon  Cola  di  Rienzi  I 


CHAPTER  yi. 

The  Events  gather  to  the  End. 

While  this  the  state  of  the  camp  of  the  besiegers, 
Luca  di  Savelli  and  Stefanello  Colonna  were  closeted 
with  a  stranger,  who  had  privately  entered  Palestrina  on 
the  night  before  the  Romans  pitched  their  tents  beneath 
its  walls.  This  visitor,  who  might  have  somewhat  passed 
his  fortieth  year,  yet  retained,  scarcely  diminished,  the 
uncommon  beauty  of  form  and  countenance  for  which 
his  youth  had  been  remarkable.  But  it  was  no  longer 
that  character  of  beauty  which  has  been  described  in  his 
first  introduction  to  the  reader.  It  was  no  longer  the 
almost  womanly  delicacy  of  feature  and  complexion,  or 
the  high-born  polish,  and  graceful  suavity  of  manner, 
which  distinguished  Walter  de  Montreal ;  a  life  of  vicis¬ 
situde  and  war  had  at  length  done  its  work.  His  bear¬ 
ing  was  now  abrupt  and  imperious,  as  that  of  one  ac¬ 
customed  to  rule  wild  spirits,  and  he  had  exchanged  the 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


281 


grace  of  persuasion  for  the  sternness  of  command.  His 
athletic  form  had  grown  more  spare  and  sinewy,  and 
instead  of  the  brow  half  shaded  by  fair  and  clustering 
curls,  his  forehead,  though  yet  but  slightly  wrinkled,  was 
completely  bald  at  the  temples  ;  and  by  its  unwonted 
height,  increased  the  dignity  and  manliness  of  his  aspect. 
The  bloom  of  his  complexion  was  faded,  less  by  outward 
exposure  than  inward  thought,  into  a  bronzed  and  settled 
paleness ;  and  his  features  seemed  more  marked  and 
prominent,  as  the  flesh  had  somewhat  sunk  from  the 
contour  of  the  cheek.  Yet  the  change  suited  the  change 
of  age  and  circumstance  ;  and  if  the  Provencal  now  less 
realized  the  idea  of  the  brave  and  fair  knight-errant,  he 
but  looked  the  more  what  the  knight-errant  had  become 
—  the  sagacious  counsellor  and  the  mighty  leader. 

‘‘You  must  be  aware,”  said  Montreal,  continuing  a 
discourse  which  appeared  to  have  made  great  impression 
on  his  companions,  “  that  in  this  contest  between  your¬ 
selves  and  the  Senator,  I  alone  hold  the  balance.  Rienzi 
is  utterly  in  my  power  —  my  brothers,  the  leaders  of  his 
army  ;  myself,  his  creditor.  It  rests  with  me  to  secure 
him  on  the  throne,  or  to  send  him  to  the  scaffold.  1 
have  but  to  give  the  order,  and  the  Grand  Company 
enter  Rome  ;  but  without  their  agency,  rnethinks  if  you 
keep  faith  with  me,  our  purpose  can  be  effected.” 

“In  the  meanwhile,  Palestrina  is  besieged  by  your 
brothers  !  ”  said  Stefanello,  sharply. 

“  But  they  have  my  orders  to  waste  their  time  before 
its  walls.  Do  you  not  see,  that  by  this  very  siege,  fruit- 
24  ♦ 


282 


RIENZI, 


less,  as,  if  I  will,  it  shall  be,  Rienzi  loses  fame  abroad, 
and  popularity  in  Rome.’’ 

“Sir  knight,”  said  Luca  di  Savelli,  “you  speak  as  a 
man  versed  in  the  profound  policy  of  the  times ;  and 
under  all  the  circumstances  which  menace  us,  your  pro¬ 
posal  seems  but  fitting  and  reasonable.  On  the  one 
hand,  you  undertake  to  restore  us  and  the  other  barons 
to  Rome ;  and  to  give  Rienzi  to  the  Staircase  of  the 
Lion - ” 

“Not  so,  not  so,”  replied  Montreal,  quickly.  “I  will 
consent  either  so  to  subdue  and  cripple  his  power,  as  to 
render  him  a  puppet  in  our  hands,  a  mere  shadow  of 
authority  —  or,  if  his  proud  spirit  chafe  at  its  cage,  to 
give  it  once  more  liberty  amongst  the  wilds  of  Germany. 
I  would  fetter  or  banish  him,  but  not  destroy ;  unless 
(added  Montreal,  after  a  moment’s  pause)  fate  absolutely 
drives  us  to  it.  Power  should  not  demand  victims  ;  but 
to  secure  it,  victims  may  be  necessary.” 

“I  understand  your  refinements,”  said  Luca  di  Savelli, 
with  his  icy  smile,  “  and  am  satisfied.  The  barons  once 
restored,  our  palaces  once  more  manned,  and  I  am  willing 
to  take  the  chance  of  the  Senator’s  longevity.  This 
service  you  promise  to  effect?” 

“I  do.” 

“  And,  in  return,  you  demand  our  assent  to  your  en¬ 
joying  the  rank  of  Podesta  for  five  years?” 

“You  say  right.” 

“I,  for  one,  accede  to  the  terms,”  said  the  Savelli; 
“  there  is  my  hand ;  I  am  wearied  of  these  brawls,  even 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


283 


amongst  ourselves,  and  think  that  a  foreign  ruler  may 
best  enforce  order :  the  more  especially  if,  like  you,  sir 
knight,  one  whose  birth  and  renown  are  such  as  to  make 
him  comprehend  the  difference  between  barons  and  ple¬ 
beians.” 

“  For  my  part,”  said  Stefanello,  “  I  feel  that  we  have 
but  a  choice  of  evils — I  like  not  a  foreign  Podesta  ;  but 
I  like  a  plebeian  Senator  still  less ;  —  there  too  is  my 
hand,  sir  knight.” 

“Noble  signors,”  said  Montreal,  after  a  short  pause, 
and  turning  his  piercing  gaze  from  one  to  the  other  with 
great  deliberation,  “  our  compact  is  sealed  ;  one  word  by 
way  of  codicil.  Walter  de  Montreal  is  no  Count  Pepin 
of  Minorbino !  Once  before,  little  dreaming,  I  own,  that 
the  victory  would  be  so  facile,  I  intrusted  your  cause  and 
mine  to  a  deputy ;  your  cause  he  promoted,  mine  he  lost. 
He  drove  out  the  Tribune,  and  then  suffered  the  barons 
to  banish  himself.  This  time  I  see  to  my  own  affairs ; 
and,  mark  you,  I  have  learned  in  the  Grand  Company 
one  lesson  ;  viz.,  never  to  pardon  spy  or  deserter,  of 
whatever  rank.  Your  forgiveness  for  the  hint.  Let  us 
change  the  theme.  So  ye  detain  in  your  fortress  my  old 
friend  the  Baron  di  Gastello  ?  ” 

“  Ay,”  said  Luca  di  Savelli ;  for  Stefanello,  stung  by 
Montreal’s  threat,  which  he  dared  not  openly  resent,  pre¬ 
served  a  sullen  silence  ;  Ay,  he  is  one  noble  the  less  to 
the  Senator’s  council.” 

“You  act  wisely.  I  know  his  views  and  temper;  at 
present  dangerous  to  our  interests.  Yet  use  him  well,  I 


284 


RIENZI, 


entreat  you  ;  he  may  hereafter  serve  us.  And  now,  my 
lords,  my  eyes  are  weary,  suffer  me  to  retire.  Pleasant 
dreams  of  the  new  revolution  to  us  all !  ” 

“By  your  leave,  noble  Montreal,  we  will  attend  you  to 
your  couch,”  said  Luca  di  Savelli. 

“By  my  troth,  and  ye  shall  not.  I  am  no  Tribune,  to 
have  great  signors  for  my  pages ;  but  a  plain  gentleman, 
and  a  hardy  soldier :  your  attendants  will  conduct  me  to 
whatever  chamber  your  hospitality  assigns  to  one  who 
could  sleep  soundly  beneath  the  rudest  hedge  under  your 
open  skies.” 

Savelli,  however,  insisted  on  conducting  the  Podesta 
that  was  to  be  to  his  apartment.  He  then  returned  to 
Stefanello,  whom  he  found  pacing  the  saloon  with  long 
and  disordered  strides. 

“What  have  we  done,  Savelli?”  said  he,  quickly; 
“  sold  our  city  to  a  barbarian  I  ” 

“  Sold !  ”  said  Savelli ;  “  to  my  mind  it  is  the  other 
part  of  the  contract  in  which  we  have  played  our  share. 
We  have  bought,  Colonna,  not  sold  —  bought  our  lives 
from  yon  army ;  bought  our  power,  our  fortunes,  our 
castles,  from  the  demagogue  Senator ;  bought,  what  is 
better  than  all,  triumph  and  revenge.  Tush,  Colonna, 
see  you  not  that  if  we  had  balked  this  great  warrior,  we 
had  perished?  Leagued  with  the  Senator,  the  Grand 
Company  would  have  marched  to  Rome ;  and,  whether 
Montreal  assisted  or  murdered  Rienzi  (for  methinks  he  is 
a  Romulus,  who  would  brook  no  Remus,)  ice  had  equally 
been  undone.  Now,  we  have  made  our  own  terms,  and 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


285 


our  shares  are  equal.  Nay,  the  first  steps  to  be  taken 
are  in  our  favor.  Rienzi  is  to  be  snared,  and  we  are  to 
enter  Rome.” 

“  And  then  the  Provengal  is  to  be  despot  of  the  city.” 

‘‘  Podesta,  if  you  please.  Podestas  who  offend  the 
people  are  often  banished,  and  sometimes  stoned  —  Po¬ 
destas  who  insult  the  nobles  are  often  stilettoed,  and 
sometimes  poisoned,”  said  Savelli.  “‘Sufficient  for  the 
day  is  the  evil  thereof.’  Meanwhile,  say  nothing  to  the 
bear,  Orsini.  Such  men  mar  all  wisdom.  Come,  cheer 
thee,  Stefanello.” 

“  Luca  di  Savelli,  you  have  not  such  a  stake  in  Rome 
as  I  have,”  said  the  young  lord,  haughtily  ;  “no  Podesta 
can  take  from  you  the  rank  of  the  first  signor  of  the 
Italian  metropolis  I  ” 

“An’  you  had  said  so  to  the  Orsini,  there  would  have 
been  drawing  of  swords,”  said  Savelli.  “  But  cheer  thee, 
I  say ;  is  not  our  first  care  to  destroy  Rienzi,  and  then, 
between  the  death  of'one  foe  and  the  rise  of  another,  are 
there  not  such  preventives  as  Ezzelino  da  Romano  has 
taught  to  wary  men  ?  Cheer  thee,  I  say  ;  and,  next  year, 
if  we  but  hold  together,  Stefanello  Colonna  and  Luca  di 
Savelli  will  be  joint  senators  of  Rome,  and  these  great 
men  food  for  worms  !  ” 

While  thus  conferred  the  barons,  Montreal,  ere  he  re¬ 
tired  to  rest,  stood  gazing  from  the  open  lattice  of  his 
chamber  over  the  landscape  below,  which  slept  in  the 
autumnal  moonlight,  while  at  a  distance  gleamed,  pale 


286  RIENZI, 

and  steady,  the  lights  round  the  encampment  of  the  be¬ 
siegers. 

“  Wide  plains  and  broad  valleys,”  thought  the  warrior, 
“soon  shall  ye  repose  in  peace  beneath  a  new  sway, 
against  which  no  petty  tyrant  shall  dare  rebel.  And  ye, 
white  walls  of  canvas,  even  while  I  gaze — ye  admonish 
me  how  realms  are  won.  Even  as  of  old,  from  the  Nomad 
tents  was  built  up  the  stately  Babylon,*  that  ‘was  not 
till  the  Assyrian  founded  it  for  them  that  dwell  in  the 
wilderness  ;  ’  so  by  the  new  Ishmaelites  of  Europe  shall  a 
race,  undreamt  of  now,  be  founded ;  and  the  camp  of 
yesterday  be  the  city  of  to-morrow.  Yerily,  when,  for 
one  soft  offence,  the  pontiff  thrust  me  from  the  bosom 
of  the  Church,  little  guessed  he  what  enemy  he  raised  to 
Rome  1  How  solemn  is  the  night ! — how  still  the  heavens 
and  earth  !  — the  very  stars  are  as  hushed,  as  if  intent  on 
the  events  that  are  to  pass  below  I  So  solemn  and  so  still 
feels  mine  own  spirit,  and  an  awe  unknown  till  now  warns 
me  that  I  approach  the  crisis  of^my  daring  fate  I  ” 


*  Isaiah,  c.  xxii. 


BOOK  TENTH. 


THE  LION  OF  BASALT. 

Ora  voglio  contare  la  morte  del  Tribune. — VU.  di  Cola  di  Riend,  lib.  ii.  cap.  24. 
Now  will  I  narrate  the  death  of  the  Tribune.  —  Life  of  Cola  di  Riemi. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  conjunction  of  hostile  planets  in  the  House  of  Death. 

On  the  fourth  day  of  the  siege,  and  after  beating  back 
to  those  almost  impregnable  walls  the  soldiery  of  the 
barons,  headed  by  the  Prince  of  the  Orsini,  the  Senator 
returned  to  his  tent,  where  despatches  from  Rome  awaited 
him.  He  ran  his  eye  hastily  over  them,  till  he  came  to 
the  last ;  yet  each  contained  news  that  might  have  longer 
delayed  the  eye  of  a  man  less  inured  to  danger.  From 
one  he  learned  that  Albornoz,  whose  blessing  had  con¬ 
firmed  to  him  the  rank  of  Senator,  had  received  with 
especial  favor  the  messengers  of  the  Orsini  and  Colonna. 
He  knew  that  the  cardinal,  whose  views  connected  him 
with  the  Roman  patricians,  desired  his  downfall ;  but  he 

(287) 


288 


R  I  E  N  Z  I , 


feared  not  Albornoz ;  perhaps  in  his  secret  heart  he  wished 
that  any  open  aggression  from  the  pontiff’s  legate  might 
throw  him  wholly  on  the  people. 

He  learned  further,  that,  short  as  had  been  his  absence, 
Pandulfo  di  Guido  had  twice  addressed  the  populace, 
not  in  favor  of  the  Senator,  but  in  artful  regrets  of  the 
loss  to  the  trade  of  Rome  in  the  absence  of  her  wealthiest 
nobles. 

“  For  this,  then,  he  has  deserted  me,”  said  Rienzi  to 
himself.  “  Let  him  beware  I  ” 

The  tidings  contained  in  the  next  touched  him  home  : 
Walter  de  Montreal  had  openly  arrived  in  Rome.  The 
grasping  and  lawless  bandit,  whose  rapine  filled  with  a 
robber’s  booty  every  bank  in  Europe  —  whose  Company 
was  the  army  of  a  king  —  whose  ambition,  vast,  un¬ 
principled,  and  profound,  he  so  well  knew  —  whose 
brothers  were  in  his  camp  —  their  treason  already  more 
than  suspected  ;  — Walter  de  Montreal  was  in  Rome  I 
The  Senator  remained  perfectly  aghast  at  this  new 
peril ;  and  then  said,  setting  his  teeth  as  in  a  vice  — - 
“  Wild  tiger,  thou  art  in  the  lion’s  den !  ”  Then 
pausing,  he  broke  out  again,  “  One  false  step,  Walter  de 
Montreal,  and  all  the  mailed  hands  of  the  Grand  Com¬ 
pany  shall  not  pluck  thee  from  the  abyss  !  But  what 
can  I  do  ?  Return  to  Rome  —  the  plans  of  Montreal 
unpenetrated  —  no  accusation  against  him  I  On  what 
pretence  can  I  with  honor  raise  the  siege  ?  To  leave 
Palestrina,  is  to  give  a  triumph  to  the  barons  —  to 
abandon  Adrian,  to  degrade  my  cause.  Yet,  while 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


away  from  Rome,  every  hour  breeds  treason  and  danger. 
Pandulfo,  Albornoz,  Montreal — all  are  at  work  against 
me.  A  keen  and  trusty  spy,  now  ;  —  ha,  well  thought 
of — Yillani  I  —  What,  ho  —  Angelo  Yillani  I ’’ 

The  young  chamberlain  appeared. 

“I  think,”  said  Rienzi,  “to  have  often  heard,  that 
thou  art  an  orphan  ?  ” 

“  True,  my  lord  :  the  old  Augustine  nun  who  reared 
my  boyhood,  has  told  me  again  and  again  that  my 
parents  are  dead.  Both  noble,  my  lord ;  but  I  am  the 
child  of  shame.  And  I  say  it  often,  and  think  of  it  ever, 
in  order  to  make  Angelo  Yillani  remember  that  he  has  a 
name  to  win.” 

“Young  man,  serve  me  as  you  have  served,  and  if  I 
live  you  shall  have  no  need  to  call  yourself  an  orphan. 
Mark  me  I  I  want  a  friend  —  the  Senator  of  Rome  wants 
a  friend  —  only  one  friend — gentle  Heaven  !  only  one  !” 

Angelo  sunk  on  his  knee,  and  kissed  the  mantle  of  his 
lord. 

“  Say  a  follower.  I  am  too  mean  to  be  Rienzi’s 
friend.  ” 

“  Too  mean  !  —  go  to  1  —  there  is  nothing  mean  before 
Hod,  unless  it  be  a  base  soul  under  high  titles.  With  me, 
boy,  there  is  but  one  nobility,  and  Nature  signs  its 
charter.  Listen  :  thou  hearest  daily  of  Walter  de  Mont¬ 
real,  brother  to  these  Proven9als  —  great  captain  of  great 
robbers  ?  ” 

“Ay,  and  I  have  seen  him,  my  lord.” 

IL— 25 


T 


290 


RIEN  ZI, 


“Well,  then  he  is  in  Rome.  Some  daring  thought  — 
some  well-supported  and  deep-schemed  villany,  could  alone 
make  that  bandit  venture  openly  into  an  Italian  city, 
whose  territories  he  ravaged  by  fire  and  sword  a  few 
months  back.  But  his  brothers  have  lent  me  money  — 
assisted  my  return  ;  — for  their  own  ends,  it  is  true  :  but 
the  seeming  obligation  gives  them  real  power.  These 
Northern  swordsmen  would  cut  my  throat  if  the  Great 
Captain  bade  them.  He  counts  on  my  supposed  weak¬ 
ness.  I  know  him  of  old.  I  suspect  —  nay,  I  read,  his 
projects ;  but  I  cannot  prove  them.  Without  proof,  I 
cannot  desert  Palestrina  in  order  to  accuse  and  seize  him. 
Thou  art  shrewd,  thoughtful,  acute; — couldst  thou  go 
to  Rome?  —  watch  day  and  night  his  movements  —  see 
if  he  receive  messengers  from  Albornoz  or  the  barons  — 
if  he  confer  with  Pandulfo  di  Guido  : — watch  his  lodgment, 
I  say,  night  and  day.  He  affects  no  concealment ;  your 
task  will  be  less  difficult  than  it  seems.  Apprise  the 
signora  of  all  you  learn.  Give  me  your  news  daily.  Will 
you  undertake  this  mission  ?  ” 

“I  will,  my  lord.” 

“  To  horse,  then,  quick  1  —  and  mind  —  save  the  wife 
of  my  bosom,  I  have  no  confidant  in  Rome.” 


THE  LAST  or  THE  TRIBUNES. 


291 


CHAPTER  II. 

Montreal  at  Rome.  —  His  reception  of  Angelo  Villani. 

The  danger  that  threatened  Rienzi  by  the  arrival  of 
Montreal  was  indeed  formidable.  The  Knight  of  St. 
John,  having  marched  his  army  into  Lombardy,  had 
placed  it  at  the  disposal  of  the  Venetian  State  in  its  war 
with  the  Archbishop  of  Milan.  For  this  service  he  re¬ 
ceived  an  immense  sum ;  while  he  provided  winter 
quarters  for  his  troop,  for  whom  he  proposed  ample  work 
in  the  ensuing  spring.  Leaving  Palestrina  secretly  and 
in  disguise,  with  but  a  slender  train,  which  met  him  at 
Tivoli,  Montreal  repaired  to  Rome.  His  ostensible  ob¬ 
ject  was  partly  to  congratulate  the  Senator  on  his 
return,  partly  to  receive  the  moneys  lent  to  Rienzi  by 
his  brother. 

His  secret  object  we  have  partly  seen  ;  but  not  con¬ 
tented  with  the  support  of  the  barons,  he  trusted,  by  the 
corrupting  means  of  his  enormous  wealth,  to  form  a  third 
party  in  support  of  his  own  ulterior  designs.  Wealth, 
indeed,  in  that  age  and  in  that  land,  was  scarcely  less  the 
purchaser  of  diadems  than  it  had  been  in  the  later  days 
of  the  Roman  Empire.  And  in  many  a  city  torn  by 
hereditary  feuds,  the  hatred  of  faction  rose  to  that  ex¬ 
tent,  that  a  foreign  tyrant  willing  and  able  to  expel  one 


292 


RIENZI, 


party,  might  obtain  at  least  the  temporary  submission  of 
the  other.  His  after-success  was  greatly  in  proportion 
to  his  power  to  maintain  his  state  by  a  force  which  was 
independent  of  the  citizens,  and  by  a  treasury  which  did 
not  require  the  odious  recruit  of  taxes.  But  more  ava¬ 
ricious  than  ambitious,  more  cruel  than  firm,  it  was  by 
griping  exaction,  or  unnecessary  bloodshed,  that  such 
usurpers  usually  fell. 

Montreal,  who  had  scanned  the  frequent  revolutions 
of  the  time  with  a  calm  and  investigating  eye,  trusted 
that  he  should  be  enabled  to  avoid  both  these  errors  : 
and,  as  the  reader  has  already  seen,  he  had  formed  the 
profound  and  sagacious  project  of  consolidating  his 
usurpation  by  an  utterly  new  race  of  nobles,  who,  serving 
him  by  the  feudal  tenure  of  the  North,  and  ever  ready 
to  protect  him,  because  in  so  doing  they  protected  their 
own  interests,  should  assist  to  erect,  not  the  rotten  and 
unsupported  fabric  of  a  single  tyranny,  but  the  strong 
fortress  of  a  new,  hardy,  and  compact  aristocratic  state. 
Thus  had  the  great  dynasties  of  the  North  been  founded  ; 
in  which  a  king,  though  seemingly  curbed  by  the  barons, 
was  in  reality  supported  by  a  common  interest,  whether 
against  a  subdued  population  or  a  foreign  invasion. 

Such  were  the  vast  schemes  —  extending  into  yet 
wider  fields  of  glory  and  conquest,  bounded  only  by  the 
Alps  —  with  which  the  Captain  of  the  Grand  Company 
beheld  the  columns  and  arches  of  the  Seven-hilled  City. 

No  fear  disturbed  the  long  current  of  his  thoughts. 
His  brothers  were  the  leaders  of  Bien^zi’s  hireling  army 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES 


293 


—  that  army  were  his  creatures.  Over  Rienzi  himself  he 
assumed  the  right  of  a  creditor.  Thus  against  one 
party  he  deemed  himself  secure.  For  the  friends  of  the 
pope,  he  had  supported  himself  with  private,  though 
cautious,  letters  from  Albornoz,  who  desired  only  to 
make  use  of  him  for  the  return  of  the  Roman  barons  ;  and 
with  the  heads  of  the  latter  we  have  already  witnessed 
his  negotiations.  Thus  was  he  fitted,  as  he  thought,  to 
examine,  to  tamper  with  all  parties,  and  to  select  from 
each  the  materials  necessary  for  his  own  objects. 

The  open  appearance  of  Montreal  excited  in  Rome  no 
inconsiderable  sensation.  The  friends  of  the  barons  gave 
out  that  Rienzi  was  in  league  with  the  Grand  Company  ; 
and  that  he  was  to  sell  the  imperial  city  to  the  plunder 
and  pillage  of  barbarian  robbers.  The  effrontery  with 
which  Montreal  (against  whom,  more  than  once,  the 
pontiff  had  thundered  his  bulls)  appeared  in  the  Metro¬ 
politan  City  of  the  Church,  was  made  yet  more  insolent 
by  the  recollection  of  that  stern  justice  which  had  led  the 
Tribune  to  declare  open  war  against  all  the  robbers  of 
Italy :  and  this  audacity  was  linked  with  the  obvious  re¬ 
flection,  that  the  brothers  of  the  bold  Proven9al  were  the 
instruments  of  Rienzi’s  return.  So  quickly  spread  sus¬ 
picion  through  the  city,  that  Montreal’s  presence  alone 
would  in  a  few  weeks  have  sufficed  to  ruin  the  Senator. 
Meanwhile,  the  natural  boldness  of  Montreal  silenced 
every  whisper  of  prudence  ;  and,  blinded  by  the  dazzle 
of  his  hopes,  the  Knight  of  St.  John,  as  if  to  give  double 
importance  to  his  coming,  took  up  his  residence  in  a 
25* 


294 


RIENZI, 


sumptuous  palace,  and  his  retinue  rivalled,  in  the  splendor 
of  garb  and  pomp,  the  display  of  Rienzi  himself  in  his 
earlier  and  more  brilliant  power. 

Amidst  the  growing  excitement,  Angelo  Yillani  arrived 
at  Rome.  The  character  of  this  young  man  had  been 
formed  by  his  peculiar  circumstances.  He  possessed 
qualities  which  often  mark  the  illegitimate  as  with  a 
common  stamp.  He  was  insolent  —  like  most  of  those 
who  hold  a  doubtful  rank ;  and  while  ashamed  of  his 
bastardy,  was  arrogant  of  the  supposed  nobility  of  his 
unknown  parentage.  The  universal  ferment  and  agita¬ 
tion  of  Italy  at  that  day  rendered  ambition  the  most 
common  of  all  the  passions,  and  thus  ambition,  in  all  its 
many  shades  and  varieties,  forces  itself  into  our  delinea¬ 
tions  of  character  in  this  history.  Though  not  for 
Angelo  Yillani  were  the  dreams  of  the  more  lofty  and 
generous  order  of  that  sublime  infirmity,  he  was  strongly 
incited  by  the  desire  and  resolve  to  rise.  He  had  warm 
affections  and  grateful  impulses ;  and  his  fidelity  to  his 
patron  had  been  carried  to  a  virtue :  but  from  his 
unregulated  and  desultory  education,  and  the  reckless 
profligacy  of  those  with  whom,  in  ante-chambers  and 
guard-rooms,  much  of  his  youth  had  been  passed,  he  had 
neither  high  principles  nor  an  enlightened  honor.  Like 
most  Italians,  cunning  and  shrewd,  he  scrupled  not  at 
any  deceit  that  served  a  purpose  or  a  friend.  His  strong 
attachment  to  Rienzi  had  been  unconsciously  increased 
by  the  gratification  of  pride  and  vanity,  flattered  by  the 
favor  of  so  celebrated  a  man.  Both  self-interest  and 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


295 


attachment  urged  him  to  every  effort  to  promote  the 
views  and  safety  of  one  at  once  his  benefactor  and 
patron ;  and  on  undertaking  his  present  mission,  his 
only  thought  was  to  fulfil  it  with  the  most  complete 
success.  Far  more  brave  and  daring  than  was  common 
with  the  Italians,  something  of  the  hardihood  of  an 
Ultramontane  race  gave  nerve  and  vigor  to  his  craft ; 
and  from  what  his  art  suggested,  his  courage  never 
shrunk. 

When  Rienzi  had  first  detailed  to  him  the  objects  of 
his  present  task,  he  instantly  called  to  mind  his  adventure 
with  the  tall  soldier  in  the  crowd  at  Avignon.  “  If  ever 
thou  wantest  a  friend,  seek  him  in  Walter  de  Montreal,’’ 
were  words  that  had  often  rung  in  his  ear,  and  they  now 
recurred  to  him  with  prophetic  distinctness.  He  had  no 
doubt  that  it  was  Montreal  himself  whom  he  had  seen. 
Why  the  Great  Captain  should  have  taken  this  interest 
in  him,  Angelo  little  cared  to  conjecture.  Most  probably 
it  was  but  a  crafty  pretence  —  one  of  the  common  means 
by  which  the  chief  of  the  Grand  Company  attracted  to 
himself  the  youths  of  Italy,  as  well  as  the  warriors  of  the 
North.  He  only  thought  now  how  he  could  turn  the 
knight’s  promise  to  account.  What  more  easy  than  to 
present  himself  to  Montreal — remind  him  of  the  words — 
enter  his  service — and  thus  effectually  watch  his  conduct? 
The  ofiice  of  spy  was  not  that  which  would  have  pleased 
every  mind,  but  it  shocked  not  the  fastidiousness  of  An¬ 
gelo  Yillani ;  and  the  fearful  hatred  with  which  his  patron 
had  often  spoken  of  the  avaricious  and  barbarian  robber 


296 


RIENZI, 


— the  scourge  of  his  native  land, — had  infected  the  young 
man,  who  had  much  of  the  arrogant  and  mock  patriotism 
of  the  Romans,  with  a  similar  sentiment.  More  vindictive 
even  than  grateful,  he  bore,  too,  a  secret  grudge  against 
Montreal’s  brothers,  whose  rough  address  had  often 
wounded  his  pride  ;  and,  above  all,  his  early  recollections 
of  the  fear  and  execration  in  which  Ursula  seemed  ever 
to  hold  the  terrible  Fra  Moreale,  impressed  him  with  a 
vague  belief  of  some  ancient  wrong  to  himself  or  his  race, 
perpetrated  by  the  Proven§al,  which  he  was  not  ill-pleased 
to  have  the  occasion  to  avenge.  In  truth,  the  words  of 
Ursula,  mystic  and  dark  as  they  were  in  their  denuncia¬ 
tion,  had  left  upon  Yillani’s  boyish  impressions  an  unac¬ 
countable  feeling  of  antipathy  and  hatred  to  the  man  it 
was  now  his  object  to  betray.  For  the  rest,  every  de¬ 
vice  seemed  to  him  decorous  and  justifiable,  so  that  it 
saved  his  master,  served  his  country,  and  advanced  him¬ 
self 

Montreal  was  alone  in  his  chamber  when  it  was  an¬ 
nounced  to  him  that  a  young  Italian  craved  an  audience. 
Professionally  open  to  access,  he  forthwith  gave  admis¬ 
sion  to  the  applicant. 

The  Knight  of  St.  John  instantly  recognized  the  page 
he  had  encountered  at  Avignon  ;  and  when  Angelo  Yil- 
lani  said,  with  easy  boldness,  “  I  have  come  to  remind 
Sir  Walter  de  Montreal  of  a  promise - ” 

The  knight  interrupted  him  with  cordial  frankness  — 
*‘Thou  needest  not  —  I  remember  it.  Dost  thou  now 
require  my  friendship  ?  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


29t 


do,  noble  signori”  answered  Angelo;  “I  know 
not  where  else  to  seek  a  patron.” 

“  Canst  thou  read  and  write  ?  1  fear  me,  not.” 

“  I  have  been  taught  those  arts,”  replied  Yillani. 

“  It  is  well.  Is  thy  birth  gentle  ?  ” 

“  It  is.” 

“Better  still; — thy  name?” 

“Angelo  Yillani.” 

“  I  take  thy  blue  eyes  and  low  broad  brow,”  said 
Montreal,  with  a  slight  sigh,  “  in  pledge  of  thy  truth. 
Henceforth,  Angelo  Yillani,  thou  art  in  the  list  of  my 
secretaries.  Another  time  thou  shalt  tell  me  more  of  thy¬ 
self.  Thy  service  dates  from  this  day.  For  the  rest,  no 
man  ever  wanted  wealth  who  served  Walter  de  Montreal ; 
nor  advancement,  if  he  served  him  faithfully.  My  closet, 
through  yonder  door,  is  thy  waiting-room.  Ask  for,  and 
send  hither,  Lusignan  of  Lyons ;  he  is  my  chief  scribe, 
and  will  see  to  thy  comforts,  and  instruct  thee  in  thy 
business.” 

Angelo  withdrew  —  Montreal’s  eye  followed  him. 

“A  strange  likeness  !  ”  said  he,  musingly  and  sadly  ; 
“  my  heart  leaps  to  that  boy  I  ” 


298 


RIENZI, 


CHAPTER  III. 

Montreal’s  Banquet. 

Some  few  days  after  the  date  of  the  last  chapter, 
Rienzi  received  news  from  Rome,  which  seemed  to  pro¬ 
duce  in  him  a  joyous  and  elated  excitement.  His  troops 
still  lay  before  Palestrina,  and  still  the  banners  of  the 
barons  waved  over  its  unconquered  walls.  In  truth,  the 
Italians  employed  half  their  time  in  brawls  amongst 
themselves;  the  Yelletritrani  had  feuds  with  the  people 
of  Tivoli,  and  the  Romans  were  still  afraid  of  conquering 
the  barons;  —  “The  hornet,”  said  they,  “stings  worse 
after  he  is  dead  ;  and  neither  an  Orsini,  a  Savelli,  nor  a 
Colonna,  was  ever  known  to  forgive.” 

Again  and  again  had  the  captains  of  his  army  assured 
the  indignant  Senator  that  the  fortress  was  impregnable, 
and  that  time  and  money  were  idly  wasted  upon  the 
siege.  Rienzi  knew  better,  but  he  concealed  his  thoughts. 

He  now  summoned  to  his  tent  the  brothers  of  Pro¬ 
vence,  and  announced  to  them  his  intention  of  returning 
instantly  to  Rome.  “  The  mercenaries  shall  continue 
the  siege  under  our  lieutenant,  and  you,  with  my  Roman 
legion,  shall  accompany  me.  Your  brother.  Sir  Walter, 
and  I,  both  want  your  presence  ;  we  have  affairs  to 
arrange  between  us.  After  a  few  days  I  shall  raise 
recruits  in  the  city,  and  return.” 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


299 


This  was  what  the  brothers  desired  ;  they  approved, 
with  evident  joy,  the  Senator’s  proposition. 

Rienzi  next  sent  for  the  lieutenant  of  his  body-guard, 
the  same  Riccardo  Annibaldi  whom  the  reader  will  re¬ 
member,  in  the  earlier  part  of  this  work,  as  the  antagonist 
of  Montreal’s  lance.  This  young  man  —  one  of  the  few 
nobles  who  espoused  the  cause  of  the  Senator  —  had 
evinced  great  courage  and  military  ability,  and  promised 
fair  (should  fate  spare  his  life*)  to  become  one  of  the 
best  captains  of  his  time. 

“Dear  Annibaldi,”  said  Rienzi;  “at  length  I  can 
fulfil  the  project  on  which  we  have  privately  conferred. 
I  take  with  me  to  Rome  the  two  Provengal  captains, 
—  I  leave  you  chief  of  the  army.  Palestrina  will 
yield  now — eh! — ha,  ha,  ha!  —  Palestrina  will  yield 
now !  ” 

“By  my  right  hand,  I  think  so.  Senator,’’  replied  Anni- 

I 

baldi.  “  These  foreigners  have  hitherto  only  stirred  up 
quarrels  amongst  ourselves,  and  if  not  cowards  are  cer¬ 
tainly  traitors  !  ” 

“  Hush,  hush,  hush  !  Traitors  !  The  learned  Arim- 
baldo,  the  brave  Brettone,  traitors  !  Fie  on  it !  No,  no  ; 
they  are  very  excellent,  honorable  men,  but  not  lucky  in 
the  camp  ;  —  not  lucky  in  the  camp  ;  —  better  speed  to 
them  in  the  city!  And  now  to  business.” 

The  Senator  then  detailed  to  Annibaldi  the  plan  he 

*  It  appears  that  this  was  the  same  Annibaldi  who  was  after¬ 
wards  slain  in  an  affray :  —  Petrarch  lauds  his  valor  and  laments 
his  fate. 


300 


RI  EN  ZI, 


himself  had  formed  for  taking  the  town,  and  the  military 
skill  of  Annibaldi  at  once  recognized  its  feasibility. 

With  his  Roman  troop,  and  Montreal’s  brothers,  one 
at  either  hand,  Rienzi  then  departed  to  Rome. 

That  night  Montreal  gave  a  banquet  to  Pandulfo  di 
Guido,  and  to  certain  of  the  principal  citizens,  whom  one 
by  one  he  had  already  sounded,  and  found  hollow  at 
heart  to  the  cause  of  the  Senator. 

Pandulfo  sat  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Knight  of  St. 
John,  and  Montreal  lavished  upon  him  the  most  courteous 
attentions. 

“Pledge  me  in  this  —  it  is  from  the  Yale  of  Chiana, 
near  Monte  Pulciano,”  said  Montreal.  “I  think  I  have 
heard  bookmen  say  (you  know.  Signor  Pandulfo,  we 
ought  all  to  be  bookmen  now  !)  that  the  site  was  re¬ 
nowned  of  old.  In  truth,  the  wine  hath  a  racy  flavor.” 

“I  hear,”  said  Bruttini,  one  of  the  lesser  barons  (a 
stanch  friend  to  the  Colonna),  “  that  in  this  respect  the 
innkeeper’s  son  has  put  his  book-learning  to  some  use : 
he  knows  every  place  where  the  wine  grows  richest.” 

“  What !  the  Senator  is  turned  wine-bibber  I  ”  said 
Montreal,  quaffing  a  vast  goblet-full ;  “  that  must  unfit 
him  for  business  —  ’tis  a  pity.” 

“  Yerily,  yes,”  said  Pandulfo  ;  “  a  man  at  the  head  of 
a  state  should  be  temperate  —  I  never  drink  wine  un¬ 
mixed.” 

“Ah,”  whispered  Montreal,  “  if  your  calm  good  sense 
ruled  Rome,  then,  indeed,  the  metropolis  of  Italy  might 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


301 


taste  of  peace.  Signor  Yivaldi,” — and  the  host  turned 
towards  a  wealthy  draper, — “  these  disturbances  are  bad 
for  trade.’’ 

“Yery,  very!”  groaned  the  draper. 

“  The  barons  are  your  best  customers,”  quoth  the  minor 
noble. 

“  Much,  much  !  ”  said  the  draper. 

’Tis  a  pity  that  they  are  thus  roughly  expelled,”  said 
Montreal,  in  a  melancholy  tone.  “  Would  it  not  be  pos¬ 
sible,  if  the  Senator  (7  drink  his  health)  were  less  rash 
— less  zealous — rather  to  unite  free  institutions  with  the 
return  of  the  barons  ? — such  should  be  the  task  of  a  truly 
wise  statesman  !  ” 

“  It  surely  might  be  possible,”  returned  Yivaldi ;  “the 
Savelli  alone  spend  more  with  me  than  all  the  rest  of 
Rome.” 

“  I  know  not  if  it  be  possible,”  said  Bruttini ;  “but  I 
do  know  that  it  is  an  outrage  to  all  decorum  that  an  inn¬ 
keeper’s  son  should  be  enabled  to  make  a  solitude  of  the 
palaces  of  Rome.” 

“It  certainly  seems  to  indicate  too  vulgar  a  desire  of 
mob  favor,”  said  Montreal.  “  However,  I  trust  we  shall 
harmonize  all  these  dijfferences.  Rienzi,  perhaps, — nay, 
doubtless,  means  well  1  ” 

“  I  would,”  said  Yivaldi,  who  had  received  his  cue, 
“  that  we  might  form  a  mixed  constitution  —  plebeians 
and  patricians,  each  in  their  separate  order.” 

“But,”  said  Montreal,  gravely,  “so  new  an  experi¬ 
ment  would  demand  great  physical  force.” 

II.— 26 


302 


RIENZI, 


“Why,  true  j  but  we  might  call  in  an  umpire  —  a 
foreigner  who  had  no  interest  in  either  faction  —  who 
might  protect  the  new  Buono  Stato  ;  a  Podesta,  as  we 
have  done  before — Brancaleone,  for  instance.  How  well 
and  wisely  he  ruled !  that  was  a  golden  age  for  Rome. 
A  Podesta  for  ever!  —  that’s  my  theory.” 

“You  need  not  seek  far  for  the  president  of  your 
council,”  said  Montreal,  smiling  at  Pandulfo  ;  “  a  citizen 
at  once  popular,  well-born,  and  wealthy,  may  be  found 
at  my  right  hand.” 

Pandulfo  hemmed,  and  colored. 

Montreal  proceeded.  “A  committee  of  trades  might 
furnish  an  honorable  employment  to  Signor  Yivaldi ;  and 
the  treatment  of  all  foreign  affairs  —  the  employment  of 
armies,  &c.,  might  be  left  to  the  barons,  with  a  more 
open  competition.  Signor  di  Bruttini,  to  the  barons  of 
the  second  order  than  has  hitherto  been  conceded  to 
their  birth  and  importance.  Sirs,  will  you  taste  the 
Malvoisie  ?  ” 

“  Still,”  said  Vivaldi,  after  a  pause  (Yivaldi  anticipated 
at  least  the  supplying  with  cloth  the  whole  of  the  Grand 
Company)  —  “  still,  such  a  moderate  and  well-digested 
constitution  would  never  be  acceded  to  by  Rienzi.” 

“  Why  should  it  ?  what  need  of  Rienzi  ?  ”  exclaimed 
Bruttini.  “  Rienzi  may  take  another  trip  to  Bohemia.” 

“  Gently,  gently,”  said  Montreal ;  “  I  do  not  despair. 
All  open  violence  against  the  Senator  would  strengthen 
his  power.  No,  no,  humble  him — admit  the  barons,  and 
then  insist  on  your  own  terms.  Between  the  two  factions 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


303 


you  might  then  establish  a  fitting  balance.  And  in  order 
to  keep  your  new  constitution  from  the  encroachment  of 
either  extreme,  there  are  warriors  and  knights,  too,  who, 
for  a  certain  rank  in  the  great  city  of  Rome,  would 
maintain  horse  and  foot  at  its  service.  We  Ultramontanes 
are  often  harshly  judged  ;  we  are  wanderers  and  Ishmael- 
ites,  solely  because  we  have  no  honorable  place  of  rest. 
Now,  if  I - ” 

‘'Ay,  if  you,  noble  Montreal !  ”  said  Yivaldi. 

The  company  remained  hushed  in  breathless  attention, 
when  suddenly  there  was  heard  —  deep,  solemn,  muffled, 
—  the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol ! 

“  Hark,”  said  Yivaldi,  "  the  bell ;  it  tolls  for  execution : 
an  unwonted  hour  !  ” 

“  Sure  the  Senator  has  not  returned  !  ”  exclaimed  Pan- 
dulfo  di  Guido,  turning  pale. 

"No,  no,”  quoth  Bruttini,  “it  is  but  n  robber,  caught 
two  nights  ago  in  Romagna.  I  heard  that  he  was  to  die 
to-night.” 

"  At  the  word  “  robber,”  Montreal  changed  countenance 
slightly.  The  wine  circulated — the  bell  continued  to  toll 
— its  suddenness  over,  it  ceased  to  alarm.  Conversation 
flowed  again. 

"  What  were  you  saying,  sir  knight  ?  ”  said  Yivaldi. 

"  Why,  let  me  think  on’t ; — oh,  speaking  of  the  neces¬ 
sity  of  supporting  a  new  state  by  force,  I  said  that  if 
I - ” 

“Ah,  that  was  it !  ”  quoth  Bruttini,  thumping  the  table. 

“  If  I  were  summoned  to  your  aid  —  summoned,  mind 


304 


RIENZI, 


ye,  and  absolved  by  the  pope’s  legate  of  my  former  sins 
(they  weigh  heavily  on  me,  gentles),  I  would  myself 
guard  your  city  from  foreign  foe  and  civil  disturbance, 
with  my  gallant  swordsmen.  Not  a  Roman  citizen  should 
contribute  a  ‘  danaro’  to  the  cost.” 

“Viva  Fra  Moreale!’’^  cried  Bruttini ;  and  the  shout 
was  echoed  by  all  the  boon  companions. 

“Enough  for  me,”  continued  Montreal,  to  expiate  my 
offences.  Ye  know,  gentlemen,  my  order  is  vowed  to 
God  and  the  Church  —  a  warrior-monk  am  I  !  Enough 
for  me  to  expiate  my  offences,  I  say,  in  the  defence  of  the 
Holy  City.  Yet  I,  too,  have  my  private  and  more  earthly 

views,  —  who  is  above  them  ?  I - the  bell  changes  its 

note  !  ” 

“  It  is  but  the  change  that  preludes  execution  —  the 
poor  robber  is  about  to  die  !  ” 

Montreal  crossed  himself,  and  resumed :  —  “I  am  a 
knight  and  a  noble,”  said  he,  proudly  ;  “  the  profession 
I  have  followed  is  that  of  arms  ;  but — I  will  not  disguise 
it — mine  equals  have  regarded  me  as  one  who  has  stained 
his  scutcheon  by  too  reckless  a  pursuit  of  glory  and  of 
gain.  I  wish  to  reconcile  myself  with  my  order  —  to 
purchase  a  new  name — to  vindicate  myself  to  the  grand 
master  and  the  pontiff.  I  have  had  hints,  gentles,  — 
hints,  that  I  might  best  promote  my  interest  by  restoring 
order  to  the  papal  metropolis.  The  legate  Albornoz 
(here  is  his  letter)  recommends  me  to  keep  watch  upon 
the  Senator.” 

“  Surely,”  interrupted  Pandulfo,  “  I  hear  steps  below.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


305 


“  The  mob  going  to  the  robber’s  execution,”  said  Brut- 
tini.  “  Proceed,  sir  knight  I  ” 

“And,”  continued  Montreal,  surveying  his  audience 
before  he  proceeded  farther,  “  what  think  ye-  (I  do  but 
ask  your  opinion,  wiser  than  mine)  —  what  think  ye,  as 
a  fitting  precaution  against  too  arbitrary  a  power  in  the 
Senator  —  what  think  ye  of  the  return  of  the  Colonna, 
and  the  bold  barons  of  Palestrina  ?  ” 

“  Here’s  to  their  health  !  ”  cried  Yivaldi,  rising. 

As  by  a  sudden  impulse,  the  company  rose.  “  To  the 
health  of  the  besieged  barons  !  ”  was  shouted  aloud. 

“Next,  what  if  (I  do  but  humbly  suggest)  —  what  if 
you  gave  the  Senator  a  colleague  ?  —  it  is  no  affront  to 
him.  It  was  but  as  yesterday  that  one  of  the  Colonna, 
who  was  senator,  received  a  colleague  in  Bertoldo  Orsini.” 

“  A  most  wise  precaution,”  cried  Yivaldi.  “  And  where 
a  colleague  like  Pandulfo  di  Guido  ?  ”  ■ 

“  Viva  Pandulfo  di  Guido  cried  the  guests,  and 
again  their  goblets  were  drained  to  the  bottom. 

“  And  if  in  this  I  can  assist  ye  by  fair  words  with  the 
Senator,  (ye  know  he  owes  me  moneys — my  brothers  have 
served  him),  command  Walter  de  Montreal.” 

“And  if  fair  words  fail?”  said  Yivaldi. 

“  The  Grand  Company  (heed  me,  ye  are  the  counsel¬ 
lors)  —  the  Grand  Company  is  accustomed  to  forced 
marches !  ” 

“Fim  Fra  Moreale!^^  cried  Bruttini  and  Yivaldi? 
simultaneously.  “  A  health  to  all,  my  friends,  continued 
Bruttini ;  “  a  health  to  the  barons,  Rome’s  old  friends ; 

26*  u 


306 


RIENZI, 

to  Pandulfo  di  Guido,  the  Senator’s  new  colleague  ;  and 
to  Fra  Moreale,  Rome’s  new  Podesta.” 

“The  bell  has  ceased,”  said  Yivaldi,  putting  down  his 
goblet, 

“  Heaven  have  mercy  on  the  robber  I  ”  added  Bruttini. 

Scarce  had  he  spoken,  ere  three  taps  were  heard  at 
the  door — the  guests  looked  at  each  other  in  dumb  amaze. 

“  New  guests  I  ”  said  Montreal.  “  I  asked  some  trusty 
friends  to  join  us  this  evening.  By  my  faith  they  are 
welcome  I  Enter  !  ” 

The  door  opened  slowly ;  three  by  three  entered,  in 
complete  armor,  the  guards  of  the  Senator.  On  they 
marched,  regular  and  speechless.  They  surrounded  the 
festive  board — they  filled  the  spacious  hall,  and  the  lights 
of  the  banquet  were  reflected  upon  their  corselets  as  on 
a  wall  of  steel. 

Not  a  syllable  was  uttered  by  the  fe  asters  :  they  were 
as  if  turned  to  stone.  Presently  the  guards  gave  way, 
and  Rienzi  himself  appeared.  He  approached  the  table, 
and  folding  his  arms,  turned  his  gaze  deliberately  from 
guest  to  guest,  till  at  last  his  eyes  rested  on  Montreal, 
who  had  also  risen,  and  who  alone  of  the  party  had  re¬ 
covered  the  amaze  of  the  moment. 

And  there,  as  these  two  men,  each  so  celebrated,  so 
proud,  able,  and  ambitious,  stood,  front  to  front  —  it 
was  literally  as  if  the  rival  spirits  of  force  and  intellect, 
order  and  strife,  of  the  falchion  and  the  fasces  —  the 
antagonist  Principles  by  which  empires  are  ruled  and 
empires  overthrown,  had  met  together,  incarnate  and  op- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


307 


posed.  They  stood,  both  silent, — as  if  fascinated  by  each 
other’s  gaze,  —  loftier  in  stature,  and  nobler  in  presence 
than  all  around. 

Montreal  spoke  first,  and  with  a  forced  smiie. 

‘‘Senator  of  Rome!  —  dare  I  believe  that  my  poor 
banquet  tempts  thee,  and  may  I  trust  that  these  armed 
men  are  a  graceful  compliment  to  one  to  whom  arms 
have  been  a  pastime  ?  ” 

Rienzi  answered  not,  but  waved  his  hand  to  his  guards. 
Montreal  was.  seized  on  the  instant.  Again  he  surveyed 
the  guests  —  as  a  bird  from  the  rattlesnake  shrunk  Pan- 
dulfo  di  Guido,  trembling,  motionless,  aghast,  from  the 
glittering  eye  of  the  Senator.  Slowly  Rienzi  raised  his 
fatal  hand  towards  the  unhappy  citizen  —  Pandulfo  saw, 
—  felt  his  doom,  —  shrieked,  —  and  fell  senseless  in  the 
arms  of  the  soldiers. 

One  other  and  rapid  glance  cast  the  Senator  round 
the  board,  and  then,  with  a  disdainful  smile,  as  if  anxious 
for  no  meaner  prey,  turned  away.  Not  a  breath  had 
hitherto  passed  his  lips  —  all  had  been  dumb  show — and 
his  grim  silence  had  imparted  a  more  freezing  terror  to 
his  unguessed-for  apparition.  Only,  when  he  reached 
the  door,  he  turned  back,  gazed  upon  the  Knight  of  St. 
John’s  bold  and  undaunted  face,  and  said,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  “Walter  de  Montreal  I  —  you  heard  the  death- 
knell  1  ” 


308 


RIENZI, 


CHAPTER  lY. 

The  sentence  of  Walter  de  Montreal. 

In  silence  the  captain  of  the  Grand  Company  was 
borne  to  the  prison  of  the  Capitol.  In  the  same  building 
lodged  the  rivals  for  the  Government  of  Rome  ;  the  one 
occupied  the  prison,  the  other  the  palace.  The  guards 
forbore  the  ceremony  of  fetters,  and  leaving  a  lamp  on 
the  table,  Montreal  perceived  he  was  not  alone,  —  his 
brothers  had  preceded  him. 

“Ye  are  happily  met,”  said  the  Knight  of  St.  John  ; 
“  we  have  passed  together  pleasanter  nights  than  this  is 
likely  to  be.” 

“Can  you  jest,  Walter?”  said  Arimbaldo,  half-weep¬ 
ing.  “  Know  you  not  that  our  doom  is  fixed  ?  Death 
scowls  upon  us.” 

“  Death  I  ”  repeated  Montreal,  and  for  the  first  time 
his  countenance  changed  ;  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  felt  the  thrill  and  agony  of  fear. 

“  Death  !  ”  he  repeated  again.  “  Impossible  !  he  dare 
not,  Brettone  ;  the  soldiers,  the  Northmen! — they  will 
mutiny,  they  will  pluck  us  back  from  the  grasp  of  the 
headsman  I  ” 

“  Cast  from  you  so  vain  a  hope,”  said  Brettone, 
sullenly;  “the  soldiers  are  encamped  at  Palestrina.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


309 


“  How !  Dolt — fool !  Came  you  then  to  Rome  alone  ! 
Are  we  alone  with  this  dread  man  ?  ” 

‘‘Row  are  the  dolt  I  Why  came  you  hither  ?  ”  answered 
the  brother. 

“Why,  indeed  !  but  that  I  knew  thou  wast  the  captain 
of  the  army;  and  —  but  thou  saidst  right  —  the  folly  is 
mine,  to  have  played  against  the  crafty  Tribune  so  un¬ 
equal  a  brain  as  thine.  Enough  I  Reproaches  are  idle. 
When  were  ye  arrested  ?  ” 

“  At  dusk  —  the  instant  we  entered  the  gates  of  Rome. 
Rienzi  entered  privately.” 

“  Hamph  I  What  can  he  know  against  me  ?  Who 
can  have  betrayed  me  ?  My  secretaries  are  tried  —  all 
trustworthy  —  except  that  youth,  and  he  so  seemingly 
zealous  —  that  Angelo  Yillani !  ” 

“  Yillani !  Angelo  Yillani  !  ”  cried  the  brothers  in  a 
breath.  “Hast  thou  confided  aught  to  him?” 

“  Why,  I  fear  he  must  have  seen — at  least  in  part — my 
correspondence  with  you  and  with  the  barons  —  he  was 
among  my  scribes.  Know  you  aught  of  him  ?  ” 

“Walter,  Heaven  hath  demented  you!”  returned 
Brettone.  “Angelo  Yillani  is  the  favorite  menial  of  the 
Senator.” 

“  Those  eyes  deceived  me  then,”  muttered  Montreal, 
solemnly  and  shuddering;  “  and,  as  if  her  ghost  had  re¬ 
turned  to  earth,  Grod  smites  me  from  the  grave !  ” 
There  was  a  long  silence.  At  length  Montreal,  whose 
bold  and  sanguine  temper  was  never  long  clouded,  spoke 
again. 


310 


RIENZI, 


“Are  the  Senator’s  coffers  full?  —  But  that  Is  im¬ 
possible.” 

“Bare  as  a  Dominican’s.” 

“We  are  saved,  then.  He  shall  name  his  price  for 
our  heads.  Money  must  be  more  useful  to  him  than 
blood.” 

And  as  if  with  that  thought  all  further  meditation  were 
rendered  unnecessary,  Montreal  doffed  his  mantle,  uttered 
a  short  prayer,  and  flung  himself  on  a  pallet  in  a  corner 
of  the  cell. 

“  I  have  slept  on  worse  beds,”  said  the  knight,  stretch¬ 
ing  himself ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  fast  asleep. 

The  brothers  listened  to  his  deep-drawn,  but  regular 
breathing,  with  envy  and  wonder,  but  they  were  in  no 
mood  to  converse.  Still  and  speechless,  they  sat  like 
statues  beside  the  sleeper.  Time  passed  on,  and  the  first 
cold  air  of  the  hour  that  succeeds  to  midnight  crept 
through  the  bars  of  their  cell.  The  bolts  crashed,  the 
door  opened,  six  men-at-arms  entered,  passed  the  bro¬ 
thers,  and  one  of  them  touched  Montreal. 

“  Ha  I  ”  said  he,  still  sleeping,  but  turning  round. 
“Hal”  said  he,  in  the  soft  Provencal  tongue,  “sweet 
Adeline,  we  will  not  rise  yet — it  is  so  long  since  we 
met !  ” 

“What  says  he  ?”  muttered  the  guard,  shaking  Mont¬ 
real  roughly.  The  knight  sprang  up  at  once,  and  his 
hand  grasped  the  head  of  his  bed  as  for  his  sword.  He 
stared  round  bewildered,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  then  gazing 
on  the  guard,  became  alive  to  the  present. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


311 


“Ye  are  early  risers  in  the  Capitol,”  said  he.  “What 
want  ye  of  me  ?  ” 

“  It  waits  you  !  ” 

“  It !  What  ?  ”  said  Montreal. 

“  The  rack  I  ”  replied  the  soldier,  with  a  malignant 
scowl. 

The  Great  Captain  said  not  a  word.  He  looked  for 
one  moment  at  the  six  swordsmen,  as  if  measuring  his 
single  strength  against  theirs.  His  eye  then  wandered 
round  the  room.  The  rudest  bar  of  iron  would  have 
been  dearer  to  him  than  he  had  ever  yet  found  the  proof- 
est  steel  of  Milan.  He  completed  his  survey  with  a 
sigh,  threw  his  mantle  over  his  shoulders,  nodded  at  his 
brethren,  and  followed  the  guard. 

In  a  hall  of  the  Capitol,  hung  with  the  ominous  silk 
of  white  rays  on  a  blood-red  ground,  sat  Rienzi  and  his 
councillors.  Across  a  recess  was  drawn  a  black  curtain. 

“Walter  de  Montreal,”  said  a  small  man  at  the  foot 
of  the  table,  “Knight  of  the  illustrious  order  of  St.  John 
of  Jerusalem - ” 

“And  Captain  of  the  Grand  Company  1  ”  added  the 
prisoner,  in  a  firm  voice. 

“You  stand  accused  of  diverse  counts  :  robbery  and 
murder,  in  Tuscany,  Romagna,  and  Apulia - ” 

“  For  robbery  and  murder,  brave  men  and  belted 
knights,”  said  Montreal,  drawing  himself  up,  “  would 
use  the  words  ‘war  and  victory.’  To  those  charges  I 
plead  guilty!  Proceed.” 

“You  are  next  accused  of  treasonable  conspiracy 


312 


RIENZI, 


against  the  liberties  of  Rome  for  the  restoration  of  the 
proscribed  barons  —  and  of  traitorous  correspondence 
with  Stefanello  Colonna  at  Palestrina.’’ 

“  My  accuser  ?  ” 

“  Step  forth,  Angelo  Villani !  ” 

‘‘  You  are  my  betrayer,  then  ?  ”  said  Montreal,  steadily. 
“  I  deserved  this.  I  beseech  you.  Senator  of  Rome,  let 
this  young  man  retire.  I  confess  my  correspondence 
with  the  Golonna,  and  my  desire  to  restore  the  barons.” 

Rienzi  motioned  to  Yillani,  who  bowed  and  with¬ 
drew. 

There  rests  only  then  for  you,  Walter  de  Montreal, 
to  relate,  fully  and  faithfully,  the  details  of  your  con¬ 
spiracy.” 

“  That  is  impossible,”  replied  Montreal,  carelessly. 

“And  why?” 

“  Because,  doing  as  I  please  with  my  own  life,  I  will 
not  betray  the  lives  of  others.” 

“Bethink  thee  —  thou  wouldst  have  betrayed  the  life 
of  thy  judge  !  ” 

“Not  betrayed  —  thou  didst  not  trust  me.” 

“  The  law,  Walter  de  Montreal,  hath  sharp  inquisitors 
—  behold  I  ” 

The  black  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and  the  eye  of 
Montreal  rested  on  the  executioner  and  the  rack  !  His 
proud  breast  heaved  indignantly. 

“Senator  of  Rome,”  said  he,  “these  instruments  are 
for  serfs  and  villeins.  I  have  been  a  warrior  and  a 
leader :  life  and  death  have  been  in  my  hands  —  I  have 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


313 


used  them  as  I  listed ;  but  to  mine  equal  and  my  foe,  I 
never  proffered  the  insult  of  the  rack.” 

“  Sir  AV alter  de  Montreal,”  returned  the  Senator, 
gravely,  but  with  some  courteous  respect,  “your  answer 
is  that  which  rises  naturally  to  the  lips  of  brave  men. 
But  learn  from  me,  whom  fortune  hath  made  thy  judge, 
that  no  more  for  serf  and  villein,  than  for  knight  and 
noble,  are  such  instruments  the  engines  of  law,  or  the 
tests  of  truth.  I  yielded  but  to  the  desire  of  these 
reverend  councillors,  to  test  thy  nerves.  But,  wert  thou 
the  meanest  peasant  of  the  Campagna,  before  my  judg¬ 
ment-seat  thou  needst  not  apprehend  the  torture.  Walter 
de  Montreal,  amongst  the  princes  of  Italy  thou  hast 
known,  amongst  the  Homan  barons  thou  wmuldst  have 
aided,  is  there  one  who  could  make  that  boast  ?  ” 

“  I  desired  only,”  said  Montreal,  with  some  hesitation, 
“  to  unite  the  barons  loith  thee  ;  nor  did  I  intrigue  against 
thy  lifeP'^ 

Bienzi  frowned — “  Enough,”  he  said,  hastily.  “  Knight 
of  St.  John,  I  know  thy  secret  projects,  subterfuge  and 
evasion  neither  befit  nor  avail  thee.  If  thou  didst  not 
intrigue  against  my  life,  thou  didst  intrigue  against  the 
life  of  Rome.  Thou  hast  but  one  favor  left  to  demand 
on  earth:  it  is  the  manner  of  thy  death,” 

Montreal’s  lip  worked  convulsively. 

“  Senator,”  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  “  may  I  crave 
audience  wdth  thee  alone  for  one  minute  ?  ” 

The  councillors  looked  up. 

II.— 21 


314 


II I  E  N  Z  I , 


‘‘My  lord,”  whispered  the  eldest  of  them,  “doubtless 
he  hath  concealed  weapons  —  trust  him  not.” 

“  Prisoner,”  returned  Rienzi,  after  a  moment’s  pause, 
“  if  thou  seekest  for  mercy,  thy  request  is  idle,  and  before 
my  coadjutors  I  have  no  secret ;  speak  out  what  thou 
hast  to  say  I  ” 

“  Yet  listen  to  me,”  said  the  prisoner,  folding  his  arms  ; 
“it  concerns  not  my  life,  but  Rome’s  welfare.” 

“  Then,”  said  Rienzi,  in  an  altered  tone,  “  thy  request 
is  granted.  Thou  mayst  add  to  thy  guilt  the  design  of 
the  assassin,  but  for  Rome  I  would  dare  greater  danger.” 

So  saying,  he  motioned  to  the  councillors,  who  slowly 
withdrew  by  the  door  which  had  admitted  Yillani,  while 
the  guards  retired  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  hall. 

“  Now,  Walter  de  Montreal,  be  brief,  for  thy  time  is 
short.” 

“  Senator,”  said  Montreal,  “  my  life  can  but  little  profit 
you ;  men  will  say  that  you  destroyed  your  creditor  iu 
order  to  cancel  your  debt.  Pix  a  sum  upon  my  life, 
estimate  it  at  the  price  of  a  monarch’s  ;  every  florin  shall 
be  paid  to  you,  and  your  treasury  will  be  filled  for  five 
years  to  come.  If  the  ‘  Buono  State’  depends  on  your 
government,  what  I  have  asked,  your  solicitude  for  Rome 
will  not  permit  you  to  refuse.” 

“You  mistake  me,  bold  robber,”  said  Rienzi,  sternly  ; 
“your  treason  I  could  guard  against,  and  therefore  for¬ 
give  ;  your  ambition,  never  !  Mark  me,  I  know  you  ! 
Place  your  hand  on  your  heart  and  say  whether,  could 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


315 


we  change  places,  you,  as  Kienzi,  would  suffer  all  the 
gold  of  earth  to  purchase  the  life  of  Walter  de  Montreal  ? 
For  men’s  reading  of  my  conduct,  that  must  I  bear ;  for 
my  own  reading,  mine  eyes  must  be  purged  from  corrup¬ 
tion.  I  am  answerable  to  God  for  the  trust  of  Rome. 
And  Rome  trembles  while  the  head  of  the  Grand  Com¬ 
pany  lives  in  the  plotting  brain  and  the  daring  heart  of 
Walter  de  Montreal.  Man  —  wealthy,  great,  and  subtle 
as  you  are,  your  hours  are  numbered  ;  with  the  rise  of  the 
sun,  you  die  !  ” 

Montreal’s  eyes,  fixed  upon  the  Senator’s  face,  saw 
hope  was  over  ;  his  pride  and  his  fortitude  returned  to  him. 

“We  have  wasted  words,”  said  he.  “I  played  for  a 
great  stake,  I  have  lost,  and  must  pay  the  forfeit !  I  am 
prepared.  On  the  threshold  of  the  unknown  world,  the 
dark  spirit  of  prophecy  rushes  into  us.  Lord  Senator,  I 
go  before  thee  to  announce  —  that  in  heaven  or  in  hell — 
ere  many  days  be  over,  room  must  be  given  to  one 
mightier  than  I  am  I  ” 

As  he  spoke,  his  form  diladed,  his  eye  glared  ;  and 
Rienzi,  cowering  as  never  he  had  cowered  before,  shrank 
back,  and  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand. 

“  The  manner  of  your  death  ?  ”  he  asked,  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

“  The  axe  :  it  is  that  which  befits  knight  and  warrior. 
For  thee,  Senator,  Fate  hath  a  less  noble  death.” 

“  Robber,  be  dumb  !  ”  cried  Rienzi,  passionately. 
“  Guards,  bear  back  the  prisoner.  At  sunrise,  Mont¬ 
real  - ” 


316 


RIENZI, 

“  Sets  the  sun  of  the  scourge  of  Italy,”  said  the  knight, 
bitterly.  “  Be  it  so.  One  request  more  ;  the  Knights 
of  St.John  claim  affinity  with  the  Augustine  order; 
grant  me  an  Augustine  confessor.” 

“  It  is  granted  ;  and  in  return  for  thy  denunciations,  I, 
who  can  give  thee  no  earthly  mercy,  will  implore  the 
Judge  of  all  for  pardon  to  thy  soul!” 

‘‘  Senator,  I  have  done  with  man’s  mediation.  My 
brethren  ?  Their  deaths  are  not  necessary  to  thy  safety 
or  thy  revenge  !  ” 

Rienzi  mused  a  moment:  “Ko,”  said  he,  “dangerous 
tools  they  were,  but  without  the  workman,  they  may 
rust  unharming.  They  served  me  once,  too.  Prisoner, 
their  lives  are  spared.” 


CHAPTER  Y. 

The  Discovery. 

The  Council  was  broken  up  —  Rienzi  hastened  to  his 
own  apartments.  Meeting  Yillani  by  the  way,  he  pressed 
the  youth’s  hand  affectionately.  “  You  have  saved  Rome 
and  me  from  great  peril,”  said  he;  “the  saints  reward 
you  I  ”  Without  tarrying  for  Yillani’s  answer,  he  hurried 
on.  Nina,  anxious  and  perturbed,  awaited  him  in  their 
chamber. 

“Not  a-bed  yet?”  said  he:  “fie,  Nina,  even  thy 
beauty  will  not  stand  these  vigils.” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  3  IT 

I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  seen  thee.  I  heard  (all 
Rome  has  heard  it  ere  this)  that  thou  hast  seized  Walter 
de  Montreal,  and  that  he  will  perish  by  the  headsman.” 

“The  first  robber  that  ever  died  so  brave  a  death,”  re¬ 
turned  Rienzi,  slowly  unrobing  himself. 

“Cola,  I  have  never  crossed  your  schemes,  —  your 
policy,  even  by  a  suggestion.  Enough  for  me  to  triumph 
in  their  success,  to  mourn  for  their  failure.  Now,  I  ask 
thee  one  request  —  spare  me  the  life  of  this  man.” 

“  Nina - ” 

“  Hear  me, — for  thee  I  speak  I  Despite  his  crimes, 
his  valor  and  his  genius  have  gained  him  admirers,  even 
amongst  his  foes.  Many  a  prince,  many  a  state  that 
secretly  rejoices  at  his  fall,  will  affect  horror  against  his 
judge.  Hear  me  farther  :  his  brothers  aided  your  return  ; 
the  world  will  term  you  ungrateful.  His  brothers  lent 

you  moneys,  the  world  (out  on  it !)  will  term  you - •” 

“  Hold  !  ”  interrupted  the  Senator.  “All  that  thou 
sayest,  my  mind  forestalled.  But  thou  knowest  me  —  to 
thee  I  have  no  disguise.  No  compact  can  bind  Mont¬ 
real’s  faith — no  mercy  win  his  gratitude.  Before  his 
red  right  hand,  truth  and  justice  are  swept  away.  If  I 
condemn  Montreal,  I  incur  disgrace  and  risk  danger  — 
granted.  If  I  release  him,  ere  the  first  showers  of  April, 
the  chargers  of  the  Northmen  will  neigh  in  the  halls  of 
the  Capitol.  Which  shall  I  hazard  in  this  alternative, 
myself  or  Rome  ?  Ask  me  no  more  — to  bed,  to  bed  !  ” 
“Couldst  thou  read  my  forebodings.  Cola,  mystic — • 
gloomy  —  unaccountable  ?  ” 

2T  * 


318 


RIENZI, 


“  Forebodings  ! — I  have  mine,”  answered  Rienzi,  sadly, 
gazing  on  space,  as  if  his  thoughts  peopled  it  with 
spectres.  Then,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  said  with 
that  fanatical  energy  which  made  much  both  of  his 
strength  and  weakness  —  “Lord,  mine  at  least  not  the 
sin  of  Saul  I  the  Amalekite  shall  not  be  saved  !  ” 

While  Rienzi  enjoyed  a  short,  troubled,  and  restless 
sleep,  over  which  Nina  watched — unslumbering,  anxious, 
tearful,  and  oppressed  with  dark  and  terrible  forewarn¬ 
ings —  the  accuser  was  more  happy  than  the  jud^e. 
The  last  thoughts  that  floated  before  the  young  mind  of 
Angelo  Yillani,  ere  wrapped  in  sleep,  were  bright  and 
sanguine.  He  felt  no  honorable  remose  that  he  had  en¬ 
trapped  the  confidence  of  another  —  he  felt  only  that  his 
scheme  had  prospered,  that  his  mission  had  been  fulfilled. 
The  grateful  words  of  Rienzi  rang  in  his  ear,  and  hopes 
of  fortune  and  power,  beneath  the  sway  of  the  Roman 
Senator,  lulled  him  into  slumber,  and  colored  all  his 
dreams. 

Scarce,  however,  had  he  been  two  hours  asleep,  ere  he 
was  wakened  by  one  of  the  attendants  of  the  palace,  him¬ 
self  half  awake.  “Pardon  me,  Messere  Yillani,”  said  he, 
“but  there  is  a  messenger  below  from  the  good  Sister 
Ursula;  he  bids  thee  haste  instantly  to  the  Convent — ■ 
she  is  sick  unto  death,  and  has  tidings  that  crave  thy 
immediate  presence.” 

Angelo,  whose  morbid  susceptibility  as  to  his  parentage 
was  ever  excited  by  vague  but  ambitious  hopes — started 
up,  dressed  hurriedly,  and  joining  the  messenger  below, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


319 


repaired  to  the  Convent.  In  the  court  of  the  Capitol, 
and  by  the  staircase  of  the  Lion,  was  already  heard  the 
noise  of  the  workmen,  and  looking  back,  Yillani  beheld 
the  scaffold,  hung  with  black  —  sleeping  cloud- like  in  the 
grey  light  of  dawn  —  at  the  same  time,  the  bell  of  the 
Capitol  tolled  heavily.  A  pang  shot  athwart  him.  He 
hurried  on  ; — despite  the  immature  earliness  of  the  hour, 
he  met  groups  of  either  sex,  hastening  along  the  streets 
to  witness  the  execution  of  the  redoubted  captain  of  the 
Grand  Company.  The  convent  of  the  Augustines  was 
at  the  farthest  extremity  of  that  city,  even  then  so  ex¬ 
tensive,  and  the  red  light  upon  the  hill-tops  already 
heralded  the  rising  sun,  ere  the  young  man  reached  the 
venerable  porch.  His  name  obtained  him  instant  ad¬ 
mittance. 

“  Heaven  grant,”  said  an  old  nun,  who  conducted  him 
through  a  long  and  winding  passage,  that  thou  mayst 
bring  comfort  to  the  sick  sister :  she  has  pined  for  thee 
grievously  since  matins.” 

In  a  cell  set  apart  for  the  reception  of  visitors  (from 
the  outward  world),  to  such  of  the  sisterhood  as  received 
the  necessary  dispensation,  sat  the  aged  nun.  Angelo 
had  only  seen  her  once  since  his  return  to  Rome,  and 
since  then  disease  had  made  rapid  havoc  on  her  form  and 
features.  And  now,  in  her  shroud-like  garments  and 
attenuated  frame,  she  seemed  by  the  morning  light  as  a 
spectre  whom  day  had  surprised  above  the  earth;  She 
approached  the  youth,  however,  with  a  motion  more 


320 


RIENZI, 


elastic  and  rapid  than  seemed  possible  to  her  worn  and 
ghastly  form.  “  Thou  art  come,”  she  said.  “Well,  well ! 
This  morning  after  matins,  my  confessor,  an  Augustine, 
who  alone  knew  the  secrets  of  my  life,  took  me  aside,  and 
told  me  that  Walter  de  Montreal  had  been  seized  by  the 
Senator  —  that  he  was  adjudged  to  die,  and  that  one  of 
the  Augustine  brotherhood  had  been  sent  for  to  attend 
his  last  hours — is  it  so?” 

“  Thou  wert  told  aright,”  said  Angelo,  wonderingly. 
“  The  mail  at  whose  name  thou  wert  wont  to  shudder  — 
against  whom  thou  hast  so  often  warned  me — will  die  at 
sunrise.” 

“  So  soon  !  —  so  soon  !  —  Oh,  Mother  of  Mercy  ! — fly  ! 
thou  art  about  the  person  of  the  Senator,  thou  hast  high 
favor  with  him  ;  fly!  down  on  thy  knees  —  and  as  thou 
hopest  for  God’s  grace,  rise  not  till  thou  hast  won  the 
Provencal’s  life.” 

“  She  raves,”  muttered  Angelo,  with  white  lips. 

“I  do  not  rave,  —  boy  !  ” — screeched  the  sister,  wildly, 
“  know  that  my  daughter  was  his  leman.  He  disgraced 
our  house,  —  a  house  haughtier  than  his  own.  Sinner 
that  I  was,  I  vowed  revenge.  His  boy  —  they  had  only 
one  I  — was  brought  up  in  a  robber’s  camp  ;  — a  life  of 
bloodshed — a  death  of  doom  —  a  futurity  of  hell  —  were 
before  him.  I  plucked  the  child  from  such  a  fate  —  I 
bore  him  away — I  told  the  father  he  was  dead — I  placed 
him  in  the  path  to  honorable  fortunes.  May  my  sin  be 
forgiven  me  !  Angelo  Yillani,  thou  art  that  child  ;  — ■ 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


321 


Walter  de  Montreal  is  thy  father.  But  now,  trembling 
on  the  verge  of  death,  I  shudder  at  the  vindictive  thoughts 
I  once  nourished.  Perhaps - ” 

“  Sinner  and  accursed  I  ”  interrupted  Yillani,  with  a 
loud  shout:  —  “sinner  and  accursed  thou  art  indeed! 
Know  that  it  was  I  who  betrayed  thy  daughter’s  lover  ! 
—  by  the  son’s  treason  dies  the  father!” 

Not  a  moment  more  did  he  tarry:  he  waited  not  to 
witness  the  effect  his  words  produced.  As  one  frantic — 
as  one  whom  a  fiend  possesses  or  pursues  —  he  rushed 
from  the  Convent  —  he  flew  through  the  desolate  streets. 
The  death-bell  came,  first  indistinct,  then  loud,  upon  his 
ear.  Every  sound  seemed  to  him  like  the  curse  of  God  ; 
on — on  —  he  passed  the  more  deserted  quarter  —  crowds 
swept  before  him — he  was  mingled  with  the  living  stream, 
delayed,  pushed  back  —  thousands  on  thousands  around, 
before  him.  Breathless,  gasping,  he  still  pressed  on — he 
forced  his  way — he  heard  not — he  saw  not  —  all  was  like 
a  dream.  Tip  burst  the  sun  over  the  distant  hills  ! — the 
bell  ceased  !  From  right  to  left  he  pushed  aside  the 
crowd  —  his  strength  was  as  a  giant’s.  He  neared  the 
fatal  spot.  A  dead  hush  lay  like  a  heavy  air  over  the 
multitude.  He  heard  a  voice,  as  he  pressed  along,  deep 
and  clear  —  it  was  the  voice  of  his  father! — it  ceased — ■ 
the  audience  breathed  heavily  —  they  murmured  —  they 
swayed  to  and  fro.  On,  on,  went  Angelo  Yillani.  The 
guards  of  the  Senator  stopped  his  way; — he  dashed 
asiSe  their  pikes^ — he  eluded  their  grasp — he  pierced  the 
armed  barrier  —  he  stood  on  the  Place  of  the  Capitol. 


V 


322 


RIENZI, 


“  Hold,  hold  !  ”  he  would  have  cried  —  but  horror  struck 
him  dumb.  He  beheld  the  gleaming  axe  —  he  saw  the 
bended  neck.  Ere  another  breath  passed  his  lips,  a 
ghastly  and  trunkless  face  was  raised  on  high  —  Walter 
de  Montreal  was  no  more  I 

Yillani  saw  —  swooned  not  —  shrunk  not  —  breathed 
not!  —  but  he  turned  his  eyes  from  that  lifted  head, 
dropping  gore,  to  the  balcony,  in  which,  according  to 
custom,  sat  in  solemn  pomp,  the  Senator  of  Rome  —  and 
the  face  of  that  young  man  was  as  the  face  of  a  demon  I 
‘‘Ha!”  said  he,  muttering  to  himself,  and  recalling 
the  words  of  Rienzi  seven  years  before — Blessed  art 
thou  who  hast  no  blood  of  kindred  to  avenge  P' 


CHAPTER  YI. 

The  Suspense. 

Walter  de  Montreal  was  buried  in  the  church  of 
St.  Maria  dell’  Aracelli.  But  the  “  evil  that  he  did  lived 
after  him  !  ”  Although  the  vulgar  had,  until  his  appre¬ 
hension,  murmured  against  Rienzi  for  allowing  so  notori¬ 
ous  a  freebooter  to  be  at  large,  he  was  scarcely  dead  ere 
they  compassionated  the  object  of  their  terror.  With 
that  singular  species  of  piety  which  Montreal  had  always 
cultivated,  as  if  a  decorous  and  natural  part  of  the  cha¬ 
racter  of  a  warrior,  no  sooner  was  his  sentence  fixed, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


323 


then  he  had  surrendered  himself  to  the  devout  prepara¬ 
tion  for  death.  With  the  Augustine  friar  he  consumed 
the  brief  remainder  of  the  night  in  prayer  and  confession, 
comforted  his  brothers,  and  passed  to  the  scaffold  with 
the  step  of  a  hero  and  the  self-acquittal  of  a  martyr.  In 
the  wonderful  delusions  of  the  human  heart,  far  from 
feeling  remorse  at  a  life  of  professional  rapine  and 
slaughter,  almost  the  last  words  of  the  brave  warrior 
were  in  proud  commendation  of  his  own  deeds.  “Be 
valiant  like  me,’’  he  said  to  his  brothers,  “  and  remember 
that  ye  are  now  the  heirs  to  the  Humbler  of  Apulia, 
Tuscany,  and  La  Marca.”  * 

This  confidence  in  himself  continued  at  the  scaffold. 
“  I  die,”  he  said,  addressing  the  Homans  —  “  I  die  con¬ 
tented,  since  my  bones  shall  rest  in  the  Holy  City  of  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul,  and  the  soldier  of  Christ  shall  have 
the  burial-place  of  the  Apostles.  But  I  die  unjustly. 
My  wealth  is  my  crime — the  poverty  of  your  state  my 
accuser.  Senator  of  Home,  thou  mayest  envy  my  last 
hour — men  like  W alter  de  Montreal  perish  not  unavenged.  ” 
So  saying,  he  turned  to  the  East,  murmured  a  brief  prayer, 
knelt  down  deliberately,  and  said  as  to  himself,  “  Home 
guard  my  ashes  ! — Earth  my  memory — Fate  my  revenge  ; 
—  and,  now,  Heaven  receive  my  soul ! — Strike  !  ”  At  the 
first  blow,  the  head  was  severed  from  the  body. 

*  “  PregOTi  che  vi  amiate  e  siate  valorosi  al  niondo,  come  fui  io, 
che  mi  feci  fare  obbedienza  a  la  Puglia,  Toscana,  e  a  La  Marca.” — 
Vit.  di  Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  ii.  cap.  22.  (I  pray  you  love  one  another, 
and  be  valorous  as  was  I,  who  made  Apulia,  Tuscany,  and  La 
Marca  own  obedience  to  me.) 


'  324  RIENZI, 

His  treason  but  imperfectly  known,  the  fear  of  him 
forgotten,  all  that  remained  of  the  recollection  of  Walter 
de  Montreal  *  in  Rome,  was  admiration  for  his  heroism, 
and  compassion  for  his  end.  The  fate  of  Pandulfo  di 
Guido,  wdiich  followed  some  days  afterwards,  excited  a 
yet  deeper,  though  more  quiet,  sentiment,  aga'inst  the 
Senator.  “  He  was  once  Rienzi’s  friend  !  ”  said  one  man  ; 
“  He  was  an  honest,  upright  citizen  !  ”  muttered  another  : 
“  He  was  an  advocate  of  the  people  !  ”  growled  Cecco 
del  Yecchio.  But  the  senator  had  wound  himself  up  to 
a  resolve  to  be  inflexibly  just,  and  to  regard  every  peril 
to  Rome  as  became  a  Roman.  Rienzi  remembered  that 
he  had  never  confided  but  he  had  been  betrayed ;  he  had 
never  forgiven  but  to  sharpen  enmity.  He  was  amidst  a 
ferocious  people,  uncertain  friends,  wily  enemies  ;  and 
misplaced  mercy  would  be  but  a  premium  to  conspiracy. 
Yet  the  struggle  he  underwent  was  visible  in  the  hysteri¬ 
cal  emotions  he  betrayed.  He  now  wept  bitterly,  now 
laughed  wildly.  “  Can  I  never  again  have  the  luxury  to 
forgive  ?  ”  said  he.  The  coarse  spectators  of  that  passion 
deemed  it,  —  some  imbecility,  some  hypocrisy.  But  the 
execution  produced  the  momentary  effect  intended.  All 

*  The  military  renown  and  bold  exploits  of  Montreal  are  acknow¬ 
ledged  by  all  the  Italian  authorities.  One  of  them  deelares  that, 
since  the  time  of  Caesar,  Italy  had  never  known  so  great  a  captain. 
The  biographer  of  Ptienzi,  forgetting  all  the  offences  of  the  splendid 
and  knightly  robber,  seems  to  feel  only  commiseration  for  his  fate. 
He  informs  us,  moreover,  that  at  Tivoli  one  of  his  servants  (perhaps 
our  friend,  Rodolph  of  Saxony),  hearing  his  death,  died  of  gi’ief  the 
following  day. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


325 


sedition  ceased,  terror  crept  throughout  the  city,  order 
and  peace  rose  to  the  surface  ;  but  beneath,  in  the  strong 
expression  of  a  contemporaneous  writer,  “Lo  mormorito 
quetamente  suonava.”* 

On  examining  dispassionately  the  conduct  of  Rienzi 
at  this  awful  period  of  his  life,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to 
condemn  it  of  a  single  error  in  point  of  policy.  Cured 
of  his  faults,  he  exhibited  no  unnecessary  ostentation — he 
indulged  in  no  exhibitions  of  intoxicated  pride — that  gor¬ 
geous  imagination  rather  than  vanity,  which  had  led  the 
Tribune  into  spectacle  and  pomp,  was  now  lulled  to  rest, 
by  the  sober  memory  of  grave  vicissitudes,  and  the  stern 

I 

calmness  of  a  maturer  intellect.  Frugal,  provident, 
watchful,  self-collected,  ‘never  was  seen,’  observes  no 
partial  witness,  ‘  so  extraordinary  a  man.’f  In  him  was 
concentrated  every  thought  for  every  want  of  Rome.  In- 
defatigably  occupied,  he  inspected,  ordained,  regulated 
all  things  ;  in  the  city,  in  the  army,  for  peace  or  for  war. 

But  he  was  feebly  supported,  and  those  he  employed 
were  lukewarm  and  lethargic.  Still  his  arms  prospered. 
Place  after  place,  fortress  after  fortress,  yielded  to  the 
lieutenant  of  the  Senator ;  and  the  cession  of  Palestrina 
itself  was  hourly  expected.  His  art  and  address  were 
always  strikingly  exhibited  in  difficult  situations,  and  the 
reader  cannot  fail  to  have  noticed  how  conspicuously  they 
were  displayed  in  delivering  himself  from  the  iron  tutelage 
of  his  foreign  mercenaries.  Montreal  executed,  his  bro- 

*  The  murmur  quietly  sounded, 
f  “Vit.  di  Cola  di  Rienzi,”  lib.  ii.  cap,  23. 

TL— 28 


326 


RIENZI, 


thers  imprisoned  (thougli  their  lives  were  spared),  a  fear 
that  induced  respect  was  stricken  into  the  breasts  of  those 
bandit  soldiers.  Removed  from  Rome,  and,  under  Anni- 
baldi,  engaged  against  the  barons,  constant  action  and 
constant  success  withheld  those  necessary  fiends  from 
falling  on  their  master ;  while  Rienzi,  willing  to  yield  to 
the  natural  antipathy  of  the  Romans,  thus  kept  the 
Northmen  from  all  contact  with  the  city ;  and,  as  he 
boasted,  was  the  only  chief  in  Italy  who  reigned  in  his 
palace  guarded  only  by  his  citizens. 

Despite  his  perilous  situation  —  despite  his  suspicions, 
and  his  fears,  no  wanton  cruelty  stained  his  stern  justice 
—  Montreal  and  Pandulfo  di  Guido  were  the  only  state 
victims  he  demanded.  If,  according  to  the  dark  Machia- 
velism  of  Italian  wisdom,  the  death  of  those  enemies  was 
impolitic,  it  was  not  in  the  act  but  the  mode  of  doing  it. 
A  prince  of  Bologna  or  of  Milan  would  have  avoided  the 
sympathy  excited  by  the  scaffold,  and  the  drug  or  the 
dagger  would  have  been  the  safer  substitute  for  the  axe. 
But  with  all  his  faults,  real  and  imputed,  no  single  act  of 
that  foul  and  murtherous  policy,  which  made  the  science 
of  the  more  fortunate  princes  of  Italy,  ever  advanced  the 
ambition  or  promoted  the  security  of  the  Last  of  the 
Roman  Tribunes.  Whatever  his  errors,  he  lived  and  died 

I 

as  became  a  man,  who  dreamed  the  vain  but  glorious 
dream,  that  in  a  corrupt  and  dastard  populace  he  could 
revive  the  genius  of  the  old  republic. 

Of  all  who  attended  on  the  Senator,  the  most  assiduous 
and  the  most  honored  was  still  Angelo  Villani.  Pro- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


32t 


moted  to  a  high  civil  station,  Rienzi  felt  it  as  a  return  of 
youth,  to  find  one  person  entitled  to  his  gratitude  :  —  he 
loved  and  confided  in  the  youth  as  a  son.  Yillani  was 
never  absent  from  his  side,  except  in  intercourse  with  the 
various  popular  leaders  in  the  various  quarters  of  the 
city ;  and  in  this  intercourse  his  zeal  was  indefatigable — 
it  seemed  even  to  prey  upon  his  health ;  and  Rienzi  chid 
him  fondly,  whenever,  starting  from  his  own  reveries,  he 
beheld  the  abstracted  eye  and  the  livid  paleness  which 
had  succeeded  the  sparkle  and  bloom  of  youth. 

Such  chiding  the  young  man  answered  only  by  the 
same  unvarying  words  — 

“  Senator,  I  have  a  great  trust  to  fulfil ;  ”  and  at  these 
words  he  smiled. 

One  day  Yillani,  while  with  the  Senator,  said  rather 
abruptly,  “  Do  you  remember,  my  lord,  that  before  Yi- 
terbo,  I  acquitted  myself  so  in  arms,  that  even  the  Car¬ 
dinal  d’Albornoz  was  pleased  to  notice  me  ?  ” 

“  I  remember  your  valor  well,  Angelo  ;  b.ut  why  the 
question  ?  ” 

“  My  lord,  Bellini,  the  captain  of  the  guard  of  the 
Capitol,  is  dangerously  ill.” 

“I  know  it.” 

“Whom  can  my  lord  trust  at  the  post?” 

“Why,  the  lieutenant.” 

“What ! — a  soldier  that  has  served  under  the  Orsinil” 

“True.  Well!  there  is  Tommaso  Filangieri.”  ' 

“An  excellent  man ;  but  is  he  not  kin  by  blood  to 
Pandulfo  di  Guido  ?  ” 


S28 


RIEN  ZI, 


“Ay  —  is  he  s.o  ?  It  must  be  thought  of.  Hast  thou 
any  friend  to  name?”  said  the  senator,  smiling,  “  Me- 
thinks  thy  cavils  point  that  way.” 

“  My  lord,”  replied  Yillani,  coloring ;  “lam  too  young, 
perhaps ;  but  the  post  is  one  that  demands  fidelity  more 
than  it  does  years.  Shall  I  own  it?  —  My  tastes  are 
rather  to  serve  thee  with  my  sword  than  with  my  pen.” 

“  Wilt  thou,  indeed,  accept  the  office  ?  It  is  of  less 
dignity  and  emolument  than  the  one  you  hold ;  and  you 
are  full  young  to  lead  these  stubborn  spirits.” 

“  Senator,  I  led  taller  men  than  they  are  to  the  assault 
at  Yiterbo.  But  be  it  as  seems  best  to  your  superior 
wisdom.  Whatever  you  do,  I  pray  you  to  be  cautious. 
If  you  select  a  traitor  to  the  command  of  the  Capitol 
guard  !  —  I  tremble  at  the  thought !  ” 

“  By  my  faith,  thou  dost  turn  pale  at  it,  dear  boy  ;  thy 
affection  is  a  sweet  drop  in  a  bitter  draught.  Whom  can 
I  choose  better  than  thee  ? — thou  shalt  have  the  post,  at 
least  during  Bellini’s  illness.  I  will  attend  to  it  to-day. 
The  business,  too,  will  less  fatigue  thy  young  mind  than 
that  which  now  employs  thee.  Thou  art  over-labored  in 
our  cause.” 

“  Senator,  I  can  but  repeat  my  usual  answer  —  I  have 
a  great  trust  to  fulfil  I  ” 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  TRIBUNES. 


329 


CHAPTER  YII. 

The  Tax. 

These  formidable  conspiracies  quelled,  the  barons 
nearly  subdued,  and  three  parts  of  the  papal  territory  re¬ 
united  to  Rome,  Rienzi  now  deemed  he  might  safely 
execute  one  of  his  favorite  projects  for  the  preservation 
of  the  liberties  of  his  native  city  ;  and  this  was  to  raise 
and  organize  in  each  quarter  of  Rome  a  Roman  Legion. 
Armed  in  the  defence  of  their  own  institutions,  he  thus 
trusted  to  establish  amongst  her  own  citizens  the  only 
soldiery  requisite  for  Rome. 

But  so  base  were  the  tools  with  which  this  great  man 
was  condemned  to  work  out  his  noble  schemes,  that  none 
could  be  found  to  serve  their  own  country,  without  a  pay 
equal  to  that  demanded  by  foreign  hirelings.  With  the 
insolence  so  peculiar  to  a  race  that  has  once  been  great, 
each  Roman  said,  —  “Am  I  not  better  than  a  German  ? 
- — Pay  me,  then,  accordingly.” 

The  Senator  smothered  his  disgust — he  had  learned  at 
last  to  know  that  the  age  of  the  Catos  was  no  more. 
From  a  daring  enthusiast,  experience  had  converted  him 
into  a  practical  statesman.  The  legions  were  necessary 
to  Rome — they  were  formed  —  gallant  their  appearance 
and  faultless  their  caparisons.  How  were  they  to  be 
paid  ?  There  was  but  one  means  to  maintain  Rome  — • 
28* 


330 


RIENZI, 

Rome  must  be  taxed.  A  gabelle  was  put  upon  wine 
and  salt. 

The  proclamation  ran  thus  :  — 

“Romans!  raised  to  the  rank  of  your  Senator,  my 
whole  thought  has  been  for  your  liberties  and  welfare  ; 
already  treason  defeated  in  the  city,  our  banners  tri¬ 
umphant  without,  attest  the  favor  with  which  the  Deity 
regards  men  who  seek  to  unite  liberty  with  law.  Let  us 
set  an  example  to  Italy  and  the  world  1  Let  us  prove 
that  the  Roman  sword  can  guard  the  Roman  Forum  1 
Ill  each  rione  of  the  city  is  provided  a  legion  of  the 
citizens,  collected  from  the  traders  and  artisans  of  the 
town  ;  they  allege  that  they  cannot  leave  their  callings 
without  remuneration.  Your  Senator  calls  upon  you 
willingly  to  assist  in  your  own  defence.  He  has  given 
you  liberty ;  he  has  restored  to  you  peace  ;  your  op¬ 
pressors  are  scattered  over  the  earth.  He  asks  you  now 
to  preserve  the  treasures  you  have  gained.  To  be  free, 
you  must  sacrifice  something;  for  freedom,  what  sacri¬ 
fice  too  great  I  Confident  of  your  support,  I  at  length, 
for  the  first  time,  exert  the  right  intrusted  to  me  by 
office  —  and  for  Rome’s  salvation  I  tax  the  Romans  1” 
Then  followed  the  announcement  of  the  gabelle. 

The  proclamation  was  set  up  in  the  public  thorough¬ 
fares.  Round  one  of  the  placards  a  crowd  assembled. 
Their  gestures  were  vehement  and  unguarded  —  their 
eyes  sparkled  —  they  conversed  low,  but  eagerly. 

“  He  dares  to  tax  us,  then  !  Why,  the  barons  or  the 
pope  could  not  do  more  than  that  I  ” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


331 


“  Shame  !  shame  !  ”  cried  a  gaunt  female  ;  “  we,  who 
were  his  friends  I  How  are  our  little  ones  to  get  bread  ?  ” 
.  “  He  should  have  seized  the  pope’s  money  !  ”  quoth  an 
honest  wine-vender. 

“  Ah  !  Pandulfo  di  Guido  would  have  maintained  an 
army  at  his  own  cost.  He  was  a  rich  man.  What  inso¬ 
lence  in  the  innkeeper’s  son  to  be  a  Senator  !  ” 

“We  are  not  Romans  if  we  suffer  this  !  ”  said  a  deserter 
from  Palestrina. 

“  Fellow-citizens  !  ”  exclaimed  gruffly  a  tall  man,  who 
had  hitherto  been  making  a  clerk  read  to  him  the  par¬ 
ticulars  of  the  tax  imposed,  and  whose  heavy  brain  at 
length  understood  that  wine  was  to  be  made  dearer  — 
“  Fellow-citizens,  we  must  have  a  new  revolution  I  This 
is  indeed  gratitude  !  What  have  we  benefited  by  re¬ 
storing  this  man  ?  Are  we  always  to  be  ground  to  the 
dust  ?  To  pay — pay — pay  !  Is  that  all  we  are  fit  for  ?  ” 

“Hark  to  Cecco  del  Yecchiol” 

“  Ho,  no  ;  not  now,”  growled  the  smith.  “  To-night 
the  artificers  have  a  special  meeting.  We’ll  see  —  we’ll 
see  !  ” 

A  young  man  muffled  in  a  cloak,  who  had  not  been 
before  observed,  touched  the  smith. 

“  Whoever  storms  the  Capitol  the  day  after  to-morrow 
at  the  dawn,”  he  whispered,  “shall  find  the  guards 
absent  I  ” 

He  was  gone  before  the  smith  could  look  round. 


The  same  night  Rienzi,  retiring  to  rest,  said  to  Angelo 


332 


RIENZI, 


Villaiii — ‘‘A  bold  but  necessary  measure  this  of  mine! 
How  do  the  people  take  it?” 

“They  murmur  a  little,  but  seem  to  recognize  the 
necessity.  Cecco  del  Yecchio  was  the  loudest  grumbler, 
but  is  now  the  loudest  approver.” 

“  The  man  is  rough  ;  he  once  deserted  me  ;  —  but  then 
that  fatal  excommunication  !  He  and  the  Romans  learned 
a  bitter  lesson  in  that  desertion,  and  experience  has,  I 
trust,  taught  them  to  be  honest.  Well,  if  this  tax  be 
raised  quietly,  in  two  years  Rome  will  be  again  the 
Queen  of  Italy ;  —  her  army  manned  —  her  republic 
formed;  and  then  —  then - ” 

“  Then  what.  Senator  ?  ” 

“Why,  then,  my  Angelo,  Cola  di  Rienzi  may  die  in 
peace  !  There  is  a  want  which  a  profound  experience  of 
power  and  pomp  brings  at  last  to  us  —  a  want  gnawing 
as  that  of  hunger,  wearing  as  that  of  sleep  ! — my  Angelo, 
it  is  the  want  to  die !  ” 

“  My  lord,  I  would  give  this  right  hand,”  cried  Yillani, 
earnestly,  “  to  hear  you  say  you  were  attached  to  life  I  ” 

“You  are  a  good  youth,  Angelo  !  ”  said  Rienzi,  as  he 
passed  to  Nina’s  chamber;  and  in  her  smile  and  wistful 
tenderness,  forgot  for  a  while — that  he  was  a  great  man  I 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


333 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Threshold  of  the  Event. 

The  next  morning  the  Senator  of  Rome  held  high 
court  in  the  Capitol.  From  Florence,  from  Padua,  from 
Pisa,  even  from  Milan  (the  dominion  of  the  Visconti), 
from  Genoa,  from  Naples — came  ambassadors  to  welcome 
his  return,  or  to  thank  him  for  having  freed  Italy  from 
the  freebooter  De  Montreal.  Venice  alone,  who  held  in 
her  pay  the  Grand  Company,  stood  aloof.  Never  had 
Rienzi  seemed  more  prosperous  and  more  powerful,  and 
never  had  he  exhibited  a  more  easy  and  cheerful  majesty 
of  demeanor. 

Scarce  was  the  audience  over,  when  a  messenger 
arrived  from  Palestrina.  The  town  had  surrendered, 
the  Colonna  had  departed,  and  the  standard  of  the 
Senator  waved  from  the  walls  of  the  last  hold  of  the  re¬ 
bellious  barons.  Rome  might  now  at  length  consider 
herself  free,  and  not  a  foe  seemed  left  to  menace  the  re¬ 
pose  of  Rienzi. 

The  court  dissolved.  The  Senator,  elated  and  joyous, 
repaired  towards  his  private  apartments,  previous  to  the 
banquet  given  to  the  ambassadors.  Villani  met  him  with 
his  wonted  sombre  aspect. 


334 


RIENZI, 


“  N'o  sadness  to-day,  my  Angelo,”  said  the  senator, 
gaily ;  “  Palestrina  is  ours  !  ” 

“  I  am  glad  to  hear  such  news,  and  to  see  my  lord  of 
so  fair  a  mien,”  answered  Angelo.  “Does  he  not  now 
desire  life  ?  ” 

“Till  Roman  virtue  revives,  perhaps  —  yes  I  But  thus 
are  we  fools  of  Fortune; — to-day  glad  —  to-morrow 
dejected  !  ” 

“To-morrow,”  repeated  Yillani,  mechanically  ;  “ay — ■ 
to-morrow  perhaps  dejected  !  ” 

“Thou  playest  with  my  words,  boy,”  said  Rienzi,  half 
angrily,  as  he  turned  away. 

But  Yillani  heeded  not  the  displeasure  of  his  lord. 

The  banquet  was  thronged  and  brilliant ;  and  Rienzi 
that  day,  without  an  effort,  played  the  courteous  host. 

Milanese,  Paduan,  Pisan,  Neapolitan,  vied  with  each 
other  in  attracting  the  smiles  of  the  potent  Senator. 
Prodigal  were  their  compliments  —  lavish  their  promises 
of  support.  No  monarch  in  Italy  seemed  more  securely 
throned. 

The  banquet  was  over  (as  usual  on  state  occasions) 
at  an  early  hour  ;  and  Rienzi,  somewhat  heated  with 
wine,  strolled  forth  alone  from  the  Capitol.  Bending 
his  solitary  steps  towards  the  Palatine,  he  saw  the  pale 
and  veil-like  mists  that  succeed  the  sunset,  gather  over 
the  wild  grass  wdiich  waves  above  the  palace  of  the 
Caesars.  On  a  mound  of  ruins  (column  and  arch  over¬ 
thrown)  he  stood,  with  folded  arms,  musing  and  intent. 
In  the  distance  lay  the  melancholy  tombs  of  the  Cam- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


335 


pagna,  and  the  circling  hills,  crested  with  the  purple  hues, 
soon  to  melt  beneath  the  star-light.  Not  a  breeze  stirred 
the  dark  cypress  and  unwaving  pine.  There  was  some¬ 
thing  awful  in  the  stillness  of  the  skies,  hushing  the 
desolate  grandeur  of  the  earth  below.  Many  and  mingled 
were  the  thoughts  that  swept  over  Rieuzi’s  breast; 
memory  was  busy  at  his  heart.  How  often,  in  his  youth, 
had  he  trodden  the  same  spot  I  —  what  visions  had  he 
nursed  !  —  what  hopes  conceived  !  In  the  turbulence  of 
his  later  life.  Memory  had  long  slept ;  but  at  that  hour 
she  re-asserted  her  shadowy  reign  with  a  despotism  that 
seemed  prophetic.  He  was  wandering  —  a  boy,  with  his 
young  brother,  hand  in  hand,  by  the  river-side  at  eve : 
anon  he  saw  a  pale  face  and  gory  side,  and  once  more 
uttered  his  imprecations  of  revenge  I  His  first  successes, 
his  virgin  triumphs,  his  secret  love,  his  fame,  his  power, 
his  reverses,  the  hermitage  of  Maiella,  the  dungeon  of 
Avignon,  the  triumphal  return  to  Home, —  all  swept 
across  his  breast  with  a  distinctness  as  if  he  were  living 
those  scenes  again! — and  7iow  I  —  he  shrunk  from  the 
present,  and  descended  the  hill.  The  moon,  alread} 
risen,  shed  her  light  over  the  Forum,  as  he  passed  through 
its  mingled  ruins.  By  the  temple  of  Jupiter,  two  figures 
suddenly  emerged  ;  the  moonlight  fell  upon  their  faces, 
and  Hienzi  recognized  Cecco  del  Yecchio  and  Angelo 
Yillani.  They  saw  him  not ;  but,  eagerly  conversing, 
disappeared  by  the  arch  of  Trajan. 

“  Yillani !  ever  active  in  my  service  I  ”  thought  the 
Senator  ;  “  methinks  this  morning  I  spoke  to  him  harshly 
—  it  was  churlish  in  me!’’ 


336 


RIEN  ZI, 


He  re-entered  the  place  of  the  Capitol  —  he  stood  by 
the  staircase  of  the  Lion  ;  there  was  a  red  stain  upon 
the  pavement,  unobliterated  since  Montreal’s  execution, 
and  the  Senator  drew  himself  aside  with  an  inward  shud¬ 
der.  Was  it  the  ghastly  and  spectral  light  of  the  Moon, 
or  did  the  face  of  that  old  Egyptian  Monster  wear  an 
aspect  that  was  as  of  life  ?  The  stony  eyeballs  seemed 
bent  upon  him  with  a  malignant  scowl ;  and  as  he  passed 
on,  and  looked  behind,  they  appeared  almost  preter- 
naturally  to  follow  his  steps.  A  chill,  he  knew  not  why, 
sank  into  his  heart.  He  hastened  to  regain  his  palace. 
The  sentinels  made  way  for  him. 

“  Senator,”  said  one  of  them,  doubtingly,  “  Messere 
Angelo  Yillani  is  our  new  captain  —  we  are  to  obey  his 
orders  ?  ” 

“Assuredly,”  returned  the  Senator,  passing  on.  The 

man  lingered  uneasily,  as  if  he  would  have  spoken ;  but 

Rienzi  observed  it  not.  Seeking  his  chamber,  he  found 

Nina  and  Irene  waiting  for  him.  His  heart  yearned  to 

his  wife.  Care  and  toil  had  of  late  driven  her  from  his 

thoughts,  and  he  felt  it  remorsefully,  as  he  gazed  upon 

/ 

her  noble  face,  softened  by  the  solicitude  of  untiring  and 
anxious  love. 

“  Sweetest,^’  said  he,  winding  his  arms  around  her  ten¬ 
derly,  “  thy  lips  never  chide  me,  but  thine  eyes  sometimes 
do  I  We  have  been  apart  too  long.  Brighter  days  dawn 
upon  us,  w'hen  I  shall  have  leisure  to  thank  thee  for  all 
thy  care.  And  you,  my  fair  sister,  you  smile  on  me  ! — • 
ah,  you  have  heard  that  your  lover,  ere  this,  is  released 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


33t 


by  the  cession  of  Palestrina,  and  to-morrow’s  sun  will  see 
him  at  your  feet.  Despite  all  the  cares  of  the  day,  I 
remembered  thee,  my  Irene,  and  sent  a  messenger  to 
bring  back  the  blush  to  that  pale  cheek.  Come,  come, 
we  shall  be  happy  again  !  ”  And  with  that  domestic 
fondness  common  to  him,  when  harsher  thoughts  per¬ 
mitted,  he  sate  himself  beside  the  two  persons  dearest  to 
his  hearth  and  heart.  • 

“  So  happy — if  w^e  could  ill^e  many  hours  like  this  !  ” 
murmured  Nina,  sinking  on  bis  breast.  “Yet  sometimes 

I  wish - ”  1  ,  ^ 

“And  I  too,”  interruptedi.yRienzi ;  '.“for- 1  read  thy 
woman’s  thought  —  I  too  sometimes  wish » that  fate  had 
placed  us  in  the  lowlier  valleys  of  life  !  But  if  may  come 
yet !  Irene  wedded  to  Adrian — Rome  married  to  Liberty 
—  and  then,  Nina,  methinks  you  and  I  would  find  some 
quiet  hermitage,  and  talk  over  old  gauds  and  triumphs, 
as  of  a  summer’s  dream.  Beautiful,  kiss  me  I  Couldst 
thou  resign  these  pomps  ?  ” 

“  For  a  desert  with  thee,  Cola !  ” 

“  Let  me  reflect,”  resumed  Rienzi ;  “is  not  to-day  the 
seventh  of  October  ?  Yes  !  on  the  seventh,  be  it  noted, 
my  foes  yielded  to  my  power  !  Seven  !  my  fated  number, 
whether  ominous  of  good  or  evil !  Seven  months  did  I 
reign  as  Tribune — seven  *  years  was  I  absent  as  an  exile  ; 

*  There  was  the  lapse  of  one  year  between  the  release  of  Rienzi 
from  Avignon,  and  his  triumphal  return  to  Rome — a  year  chiefly 
spent  in  the  campaign  of  Albornoz. 

IL— 29 


w 


338 


RIENZI, 


to-morrow,  that  sees  me  without  an  enemy,  completes  my 
seventh  week  of  return  I  ” 

‘•'And  seven  was  the  number  of  the  crowns  the  Roman 
Convents  and  the  Roman  Council  awarded  thee,  after 
the  ceremony  which  gave  thee  the  knighthood  of  the 
Santo  Spirito/^’^  said  Nina,  adding,  with  woman’s 
tender  wit,  “  the  brightest  association  of  all !  ” 

“  Follies  seem  these  thoughts  to  others,  and  to  phi¬ 
losophy,  in  truth,  they  are  so,”  said  Rienzi;  “but  all  my 
life  long,  omen  and  type  and  shadow  have  linked  them¬ 
selves  to  action  and  event :  and  the  atmosphere  of  other 
men  hath  not  been  mine.  Life  itself  a  riddle,  why  should 
riddles  amaze  us  ?  The  Future  !  —  what  mystery  in  the 
very  word  I  Had  we  lived  all  through  the  Past,  since 
Time  was,  our  profoundest  experience  of  a  thousand 
ages  could  not  give  us  a  guess  of  the  events  that  wait 
the  very  moment  we  are  about  to  enter  !  Thus  deserted 
by  Reason,  what  wonder  that  we  recur  to  the  Imagi¬ 
nation,  on  which,  by  dream  and  symbol,  God  sometimes 
paints  the  likeness  of  things  to  come  ?  Who  can  endure 
to  leave  the  Future  all  unguessed,  and  sit  tamely  down 

*  This  superstition  had  an  excuse  in  strange  historical  coinci¬ 
dences;  and  the  number  seven  was  indeed  to  Rienzi  what  the  3d 
of  September  was  to  Cromwell.  The  ceremony  of  the  seven  crowns 
which  he  received  after  his  knighthood,  on  the  nature  of  which 
ridiculous  ignorance  has  been  shown  by  many  recent  writers,  was, 
in  fact,  principally  a  religious  and  typical  donation  (symbolical  of 
the  gifts  of  the  Holy  Spirit)  conferred  by  the  heads  of  convents  ; 
and  that  part  of  the  ceremony  which  was  political,  was  republican, 
not  regal. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


339 


to  groan  under  the  fardel  of  the  Present  ?  No,  no  I 
that  which  the  foolish-wise  call  Fanaticism,  belongs  to 
the  same  part  of  us  as  Hope.  Each  but  carries  us 
onward — from  a  barren  strand  to  a  glorious,  if  unbounded 
sea.  Each  is  the  yearning  for  the  Great  Beyond,  which 
attests  our  immortality.  Each  has  its  visions  and  chi¬ 
meras —  some  false,  but  some  true  !  Yerily,  a  man  who 
becomes  great  is  often  but  made  so  by  a  kind  of  sorcery 
in  his  own  soul — a  Pythia  which  prophesies  that  he  shall 
be  great  —  and  so  renders  the  life  one  effort  to  fulfil  the 
warning  !  Is  this  folly  ?  —  it  were  so,  if  all  things  stop¬ 
ped  at  the  grave  !  But  perhaps  the  very  sharpening,  and 
exercising,  and  elevating  the  faculties  here  —  though  but 
for  a  bootless  end  07i  earth  —  may  be  designed  to  fit  the 
soul,  thus  quickened  and  ennobled,  to  some  high  destiny 

beyond  the  earth  I  Who  can  tell  ?  not  1 1 - Let  us 

pray !  ’’ 

While  the  Senator  was  thus  employed,  Rome  in  her 
various  quarters  presented  less  holy  and  quiet  scenes. 

In  the  fortress  of  the  Orsini  lights  flitted  to  and  fro, 
through  the  gratings  of  the  main  court.  Angelo  Yillani 
might  be  seen  stealing  from  the  postern  gate.  Another 
hour,  and  the  moon  was  high  in  heaven;  toward  the  ruins 
of  the  Colosseum,  men,  whose  dress  bespoke  them  of  the 
lowest  rank,  were  seen  creeping  from  lanes  and  alleys, 
two  by  two  ;  from  these  ruins  glided  again  the  form  of 
the  son  of  Montreal.  Later  yet  —  the  moon  is  sinking — 
a  grey  light  breaking  in  the  East  —  and  the  gates  of 
Rome,  by  St.  John  of  Lateran,  are  open  !  Yillani  is  con- 


340 


RIENZI, 


versing  with  the  sentries !  The  moon  has  set — the  moun¬ 
tains  are  dim  with  a  mournful  and  chilling  haze  — Yillani 
is  before  the  palace  of  the  Capitol' — the  only  soldier 
there  !  Where  are  the  Roman  legions  that  were  to  guard 
alike  the  freedom  and  the  deliverer  of  Rome  ? 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

The  Close  of  the  Chase. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  8th  of  October,  1354.  Rienzi, 
who  rose  betimes,  stirred  restlessly  in  his  bed.  “  It  is  yet 
early,”  he  said  to  Nina,  whose  soft  arm  was  round  his 
neck;  “none  of  my  people  seem  to  be  astir.  Howbeit, 
my  day  begins  before  theirs.^^ 

“Rest  yet,  my  Cola;  you  want  sleep.” 

“  No  ;  I  feel  feverish,  and  this  old  pain  in  the  side  tor¬ 
ments  me.  I  have  letters  to  write.” 

“Let  me  be  your  secretary,  dearest,”  said  Nina. 

Rienzi  smiled  affectionately  as  he  rose ;  he  repaired  to 
his  closet  adjoining  his  sleeping-apartment,  and  used  the 
bath,  as  was  his  wont.  Then  dressing  himself,  he  returned 
to  Nina,  who,  already  loosely  robed,  sate  by  the  writing- 
table,  ready  for  her  office  of  love., 

“  How  still  are  all  things  !  ”  said  Rienzi.  “  What  a  cool 
and  delicious  prelude,  in  these  early  hours,  to  the  toil¬ 
some  day.” 

Leaning  over  his  wife,  he  then  dictated  different  letters, 


THE  LAST  or  THE  TRIBUNES. 


341 


interrupting  the  task  at  times  by  such  observations  as 
crossed  his  mind. 

“  So,  now  to  Annibaldi  I  By  the  way,  young  Adrian 
should  join  us  to-day  ;  how  I  rejoice  for  Irene’s  sake  !  ” 

“Dear  sister  —  yes  I  she  loves  —  if  any.  Cola,  can  so 
love — as  we  do.” 

“Well,  but  to  your  task,  my  fair  scribe.  Ha!  what 
noise  is  that  ?  I  hear  an  armed  step  —  the  stairs  creak  — 
some  one  shouts  my  name.” 

Bienzi  flew  to  his  sword  !  the  door  was  thrown  rudely 
open,  and  a  figure  in  complete  armor  appeared  within  the 
chamber. 

“  How  !  what  means  this  ?  ”  said  Rienzi,  standing  before 
Nina,  with  his  drawn  sword. 

The  intruder  lifted  his  vizor  —  it  was  Adrian  Colonna. 

“  Fly,  Rienzi ! — hasten,  signora  I  Thank  heaven,  I  can 
save  ye  yet  I  Myself  and  train  released  by  the  capture 
of  Palestrina,  the  pain  of  my  wound  detained  me  last 
night  at  Tivoli.  The  town  was  filled  with  armed  men  — 
not  thine,  Senator.  I  heard  rumors  that  alarmed  me.  I 
resolved  to  proceed  onward  —  I  reached  Rome;  the  gates 
of  the  city  were  wide  open  I  ” 

“  How  I  ” 

“Your  guard  gone.  Presently  I  came  upon  a  band 
of  the  retainers  of  the  Savelli.  My  insignia,  as  a  Colonna, 
misled  them.  I  learned  that  this  very  hour  some  of  your 
enemies  are  within  the  city,  the  rest  are  on  their  march 
—  the  people  themselves  arm  against  you.  In  the  ob¬ 
scurer  streets  I  passed  through,  the  mob  were  already 
29* 


342 


RIEN  ZI, 


forming.  They  took  me  for  thy  foe,  and  shouted.  I 
came  hither  —  thy  sentries  have  vanished.  The  private 
door  below  is  unbarred  and  open.  Not  a  soul  seems  left 
in  thy  palace.  Haste — fly  —  save  thyself!  Where  is 
Irene  ? 

“The  Capitol  deserted  I  —  impossible  I”  cried  Rienzi. 
lie  strode  across  the  chambers  to  the  ante-room,  where 
his  night-guard  usually  waited  —  it  was  empty!  He 
passed  hastily  to  Yillani’s  room  —  it  was  untenanted! 
He  would  have  passed  farther,  but  the  doors  were  secured 
without.  It  was  evident  that  all  egress  had  been  cut  off, 
save  by  the  private  door  below,  —  and  that  had  been  left 
open  to  admit  his  murtherers. 

He  returned  to  his  room  —  Nina  had  already  gone  to 
rouse  and  prepare  Irene,  whose  chamber  was  on  the  other 
side,  within  one  of  their  own. 

‘  Quick,  Senator  !  ”  said  Adrian.  “  Methinks  there  is 
yet  time.  We  must  make  across  to  the  Tiber.  I  have 
stationed  my  faithful  squires  and  Northmen  there.  A 
boat  waits  us.” 

“  Hark  !  ”  interrupted  Rienzi,  whose  senses  had  of  late 
been  preternaturally  quickened.  “I  hear  a  distant  shout 
—  a  familiar  shout,  ‘  Yiva  Popolo  !  ’  Why,  so  say  1 1 
These  must  be  friends.” 

“  Deceive  not  thyself  ;  thou  hast  scarce  a  friend  at 
Rome.” 

“Hist!”  said  Rienzi,  in  a  whisper;  “save  Nina  — 
save  Irene.  I  cannot  accompany  thee.” 

“Art  thou  mad?” 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


343 


“No,  but  fearless.  Besides,  did  I  accompany,  I  might 
but  destroy  you  all.  Were  I  found  with  you,  you  would 
be  massacred  with  me.  Without  me  ye  are  safe.  Yes, 
even  the  Senator’s  wife  and  sister  have  provoked  no  re¬ 
venge.  Save  them,  noble  Colonna  I  Cola  di  Bienzi  puts 
his  trust  in  God  alone !  ” 

By  this  time  Nina  had  returned  ;  Irene  with  her.  Afar 
was  heard  the  tramp  —  steady  —  slow  —  gathering  —  of 
the  fatal  multitude. 

“Now,  Cola,”  said  Nina,  with  a  bold  and  cheerful  air, 
and  she  took  her  husband’s  arm,  while  Adrian  had 
already  found  his  charge  in  Irene. 

“  Yes,  now,  Nina  !  ”  said  Rienzi ;  “  at  length  we  part  I 
If  this  is  my  last  hour  —  in  my  last  hour  I  pray  God  to 
bless  and  shield  thee  !  for  verily,  thou  hast  been  my  ex¬ 
ceeding  solace  —  provident  as  a  parent,  tender  as  a  child, 
the  smile  of  my  hearth,  the  —  the - ” 

Rienzi  was  almost  unmanned.  Emotions,  deep,  con¬ 
flicting,  unspeakably  fond  and  grateful,  literally  choked 
his  speech. 

“What !  ”  cried  Nina,  clinging  to  his  breast,  and  part-  . 
ing  her  hair  from  her  eyes,  as  she  sought  his  averted  face. 
“Part !  —  never  !  This  is  my  place — all  Rome  shall  not 
tear  me  from  it !  ” 

Adrian,  in  despair,  seized  her  hand,  and  attempted  to 
drag  her  thence. 

“Touch  me  not,  sir  !  ”  said  Nina,  waving  her  arm  with 
angry  majesty,  while  her  eyes  sparkled  as  a  lioness,  whom 
the  huntsmen  would  sever  from  her  young.  “  I  am  the 


344 


RIENZI, 


wife  of  Cola  di  Rienzi,  the  great  Senator  of  Rome,  and 
by  his  side  will  I  live  and  die  !  ” 

“  Take  her  hence  :  quick  !  —  quick  I  I  hear  the  crowd 
advancing.” 

Irene  tore  herself  from  Adrian,  and  fell  at  the  feet  of 
Rienzi  —  she  clasped  his  knees. 

“  Come,  my  brother,  come  !  Why  lose  these  precious 
moments  ?  Rome  forbids  you  to  cast  away  a  life  in 
which  her  very  self  is  bound  up.” 

“  Right,  Irene  ;  Rome  is  bound  up  with  me,  and  we 
will  rise  or  fall  together! — no  more!” 

“  You  destroy  us  all !  ”  said  Adrian,  with  generous  and 
impatient  warmth.  “A  few  minutes  more,  and  we  are 
lost.  Rash  man  !  it  is  not  to  fall  by  an  infuriated  mob 
that  you  have  been  preserved  from  so  many  dangers.” 

“  I  believe  it !  ”  said  the  Senator,  as  his  tall  form 
seemed  to  dilate  as  with  the  greatness  of  his  own  soul. 
“  I  shall  triumph  yet !  Never  shall  mine  enemies — never 
shall  posterity  say  that  a  second  time  Rienzi  abandoned 
Rome  !  Hark  !  ‘Yivi  ’1  Popolo  !’  still  the  cry  of  ‘  The 
People.’  That  cry  scares  none  but  tyrants  !  I  shall 
triumph  and  survive  !  ”  ^ 

“And  I  with  thee  !  ”  said  Nina,  firmly.  Rienzi  paused 
a  moment,  gazed  on  his  wife,  passionately  clasped  her  to 
his  heart,  kissed  her  again  and  again,  and  then  said, 
“  Nina,  I  command  thee,  —  Go  !  ” 

“  Never !  ” 

He  paused.  Irene’s  face,  drowned  in  tears,  met  his 
eyes. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


345 


“We  will  all  perish  with  you,”  said  his  sister;  “you 
only,  Adrian,  you  leave  us  ! 

“Be  it  so,”  said  the  knight,  sadly;  “we  will  all 
remain  ;  ”  and  he  desisted  at  once  from  further  effort. 

There  was  a  dead  but  short  pause,  broken  but  by  a 
convulsive  sob  from  Irene.  The  tramp  of  the  raging 
thousands  sounded  fearfully  distinct.  Bienzi  seemed  lost 
in  thought  —  then  lifting  his  head,  he  said,  calmly,  “Ye 
have  triumphed  —  I  join  ye  —  I  but  collect  these  papers, 
and  follow  you.  Quick,  Adrian  —  save  them  !  ”  and  he 
pointed  meaningly  to  Nina. 

Waiting  no  other  hint,  the  young  Colonna  seized  Nina 
in  his  strong  grasp  —  with  his  left  hand  he  supported 
Irene,  who  with  terror  and  excitement  was  almost  in¬ 
sensible.  Rienzi  relieved  him  of  the  lighter  load  —  he 
took  his  sister  in  his  arms,  and  descended  the  winding 
stairs.  Nina  remained  passive — she  heard  her  husband’s 
step  behind,  it  was  enough  for  her — she  but  turned  once 
to  thank  him  with  her  eyes.  A  tall  Northman  clad  in 
armor  stood  at  the  open  door.  Rienzi  placed  Irene,  now 
perfectly  lifeless,  in  the  soldier’s  arms,  and  kissed  her  pale 
cheek  in  silence. 

“Quick,  my  lord,”  said  the  Northman,  “on  all  sides 
they  come  !  ”  So  saying,  he  bounded  down  the  descent 
with  his  burthen.  Adrian  followed  with  Nina ;  the 
Senator  paused  one  moment,  turned  back,  and  was  in  his 
room  ere  Adrian  was  aware  that  he  had  vanished. 

Hastily  he  drew  the  coverlid  from  his  bed,  fastened  it 
to  the  casement  bars,  and  by  its  aid  dropped  (at  a  dis- 


346 


RIENZI, 


tance  of  several  feet)  into  the  balcony  below.  “  I  will 
not  die  like  a  rat,”  said  be,  “in  the  trap  they  have  set 
for  me  !  The  whole  crowd  shall,  at  least,  see  and  hear 
me.” 

This  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 

Meanwhile,  Nina  had  scarcely  proceeded  six  paces, 
before  she  discovered  that  she  was  alone  with  Adrian. 

“  Ha  !  Cola  !  ”  she  cried,  “  where  is  he  ?  he  has  gone  !  ” 

“  Take  heart,  lady,  he  has  returned  but  for  some 
secret  papers  he  has  forgotten.  He  will  follow  us  anon.” 

“Let  us  wait,  then.” 

“Lady,”  said  Adrian,  grinding  his  teeth,  “hear  you 
not  the  crowd  ?  —  on,  on  I  ”  and  he  flew  with  a  swifter 
step.  Nina  struggled  in  his  grasp — Love  gave  her  the 
strength  of  despair.  With  a  wild  laugh  she  broke  from 
him.  She  flew  back — the  door  was  closed,  but  unbarred 
—  her  trembling  hands  lingered  a  moment  round  the 
spring.  She  opened  it,  drew  the  heavy  bolt  across  the 
panels,  and  frustrated  all  attempt  from  Adrian  to  regain 
her.  She  was  on  the  stairs,  —  she  was  in  the  room. 
Rienzi  was  gone  I  She  fled,  shrieking  his  name,  through 
the  state  chambers  —  all  was  desolate.  She  found  the 
doors  opening  on  the  various  passages  that  admitted  to 
the  rooms  below  barred  without.  Breathless  and  gasp¬ 
ing,  she  returned  to  the  chamber.  She  hurried  to  the 
casement  —  she  perceived  the  method  by  which  he  had 
descended  below  —  her  brave  heart  told  her  of  his  brave 
design  ; — she  saw  they  were  separated, — “But  the  same 
roof  holds  us,”  she  cried,  joyously,  “and  our  fate  shall 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


347 


be  the  same  I  ”  With  that  thought  she  sank  in  mute 
patience  on  the  floor. 

Forming  the  generous  resolve  not  to  abandon  the 
faithful  and  devoted  pair  without  another  effort,  Adrian 
had  followed  Nina,  but  too  late  —  the  door  was  closed 
against  his  efforts.  The  crowd  marched  on — he  heard 
their  cry  change  on  a  sudden  —  it  was  no  longer  “  Live 
THE  People  !  ”  but,  “  Death  to  the  Traitor  !  ”  His 
attendant  had  already  disappeared,  and  waking  now  only 
to  the  danger  of  Irene,  the  Colonna  in  bitter  grief  turned 
away,  lightly  sped  down  the  descent,  and  hastened  to  the 
river-side,  where  a  boat  and  his  band  awaited  him. 

The  balcony  on  which  Rienzi  had  alighted  was  that 
from  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  address  the  people 
—  it  communicated  with  a  vast  hall  used  on  solemn 
occasions  for  state  festivals  —  and  on  either  side  were 
square  projecting  towers,  whose  grated  casements  looked 
into  the  balcony.  One  of  these  towers  was  devoted  to 
the  armory,  the  other  contained  the  prison  of  Brettone, 
the  brother  of  Montreal.  Beyond  the  latter  tower  was 
the  general  prison  of  the  Capitol.  For  then  the  prison 
and  the  palace  were  in  awful  neighborhood  ! 

The  windows  of  the  hall  were  yet  open  —  and  Rienzi 
passed  into  it  from  the  balcony  —  the  witness  of  the 
yesterday’s  banquet  was  still  there — the  wine,  yet  undried, 
crimsoned  the  floor,  and  goblets  of  gold  and  silver  shone 
from  the  recesses.  He  proceeded  at  once  to  the  armory, 
and  selected  from  the  various  suits  that  which  he  himself 
had  worn  when,  nearly  eight  years  ago,  he  had  chased 


348 


RIENZI, 


the  barons  from  the  gates  of  Rome.  He  arrayed  him¬ 
self  in  mail,  leaving  only  his  head  uncovered  ;  and  then 
taking,  in  his  right  hand,  from  the  wall,  the  great  gonfa¬ 
lon  of  Rome,  returned  once  more  to  the  hall.  Not  a 
man  encountered  him.  In  that  vast  building,  save  the 
prisoners,  and  the  faithful  Nina,  whose  presence  he  knew 
not  of — the  Senator  was  alone. 

On  they  came,  no  longer  in  measured  order,  as  stream 
after  stream  —  from  lane,  from  alley,  from  palace  and 
from  hovel — the  raging  sea  received  new  additions.  On 
they  came  —  their  passions  excited  by  their  numbers  — 
.women  and  men,  children  and  malignant  age  —  in  all  the 
awful  array  of  aroused,  released,  unresisted  physical 
strength  and  brutal  wrath  ;  “  Death  to  the  traitor — death 
to  the  tyrant  —  death  to  him  who  taxed  the  people  !  ”  — 
Mora  H  traditore  che  ha  fatta  la  gabella!  —  MoraP^ 
Such  was  the  cry  of  the  people  —  such  the  crime  of  the 
Senator  !  .  They  broke  over  the  low  palisades  of  the 
Capitol — they  filled  with  one  sudden  rush  the  vast  space  ; 
—  a  moment  before  so  desolate,  —  now  swarming  with 
human  beings  athirst  for  blood  ! 

Suddenly  came  a  dead  silence,  and  on  the  balcony 
above  stood  Rienzi  —  his  head  was  bared  and  the  morn¬ 
ing  sun  shone  over  that  lordly  brow,  and  the  hair  grown 

• 

grey  before  its  time,  in  the  service  of  that  maddening 
multitude.  Pale  and  erect  he  stood  —  neither  fear,  nor 
anger,  nor  menace  —  but  deep  grief  and  high  resolve — ■ 
upon  his  features  !  A  momentary  shame  —  a  momentary 
awe  seized  the  crowd. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


349 


He  pointed  to  the  gonfalon,  wrought  with  the  repub¬ 
lican  motto  and  arms  of  Rome,  and  thus  he  began  :  — 

“  I  too  am  a  Roman  and  a  citizen ;  hear  me  !  ” 

‘‘  Hear  him  not !  hear  him  not !  his  false  tongue  can 
charm  away  our  senses !  ”  cried  a  voice  louder  than  his 
own;  and  Rienzi  recognized  Cecco  del  Yecchio. 

‘‘  Hear  him  not !  down  with  the  tyrant !  ”  cried  a  more 
shrill  and  youthful  tone ;  and  by  the  side  of  the  artisan 
stood  Angelo  Yillani. 

“  Hear  him  not!  death  to  the  death-giver!”  cried  a- 
voice  close  at  hand,  and  from  the  grating  of  the  neighbor¬ 
ing  prison  glared  near  upon  him,  as  the  eye  of  a  tiger, 
the  vengeful  gaze  of  the  brother  of  Montreal. 

Then  from  earth  to  heaven  rose  the  roar — “  Down  with 
the  tyrant — down  with  him  who  taxed  the  people  !” 

A  shower  of  stones  rattled  on  the  mail  of  the  Senator, 
still  he  stirred  not.  No  changing  muscle  betokened  fear. 
His  persuasion  of  his  own  wonderful  powers  of  eloquence, 
if  he  could  but  be  heard,  inspired  him  yet  with  hope  ;  he 
stood  collected  in  his  own  indignant,  but  determined 
thoughts; — but  the  knowledge  of  that  very  eloquence 
was  now  his  deadliest  foe.  The  leaders  of  the  multitude 
trembled  lest  he  should  be  heard;  and  doubtless,'^  says 
the  contemporaneous  biographer,  ‘‘had  he  hut  spoken  he 
would  have  changed  them  all,  and  the  work  been  marredd^ 
The  soldiers  of  the, barons  had  already  mixed  them¬ 
selves  with  the  throng — more  deadly  weapons  than  stones 
aided  the  wrath  of  the  multitude  —  darts  and  arrows 
darkened  the  air ;  and  now  a  voice  was  heard  shrieking, 
II. —30 


350 


RIEN  ZI, 


“Way  for  the  torches!”  And  red  in  the  sunlight  the 
torches  tossed  and  W0.ved,  and  danced  to  and  fro,  above 
the  heads  of  the  crowd,  as  if  the  fiends  were  let  loose 
amongst  the  mob  I  And  what  place  in  hell  hath  fiends 
like  those  a  mad  mob  can  furnish  ?  Straw,  and  wood, 
and  litter,  were  piled  hastily  round  the  great  doors  of  the 
Capitol,  and  the  smoke  curled  suddenly  up,  beating  back 
the  rush  of  the  assailants. 

Rienzi  was  no  longer  visible,  an  arrow  had  pierced  his 
hand — the  right  hand  that  supported  the  flag  of  Rome 
—  the  right  hand  that  had  given  a  constitution  to  the 
republic.  He  retired  from  the  storm  into  the  desolate 
hall. 

He  sat  down; — and  tears,  springing  from  no  weak 
and  woman  source,  but  tears  from  the  loftiest  fountain 
of  emotion  —  tears  that  befit  a  warrior  when  his  own 
troops  desert  him — a  patriot  when  his  countrymen  rush 
to  their  own  doom  —  a  father  when  his  children  rebel 
against  his  love,  — tears  such  as  these  forced  themselves 
from  his  eyes  and  relieved, — but  they  changed,  his  heart  I 

“Enough,  enough!”  he  said,  presently  rising  and 
dashing  the  drops  scornfully  away ;  “  I  have  risked, 
dared,  toiled  enough  for  this  dastard  and  degenerate 
race.  I  will  yet  baffle  their  malice — I  renounce  the 
thought  of  which  they  are  so  little  worthy  !  —  Let  Rome 
perish  !  —  I  feel,  at  least,'  that  I  am  nobler  than  my 
country!  —  she  deserves  not  so  high  a  sacrifice!” 

With  that  feeling,  Death  lost  all  the  nobleness  of  aspect 
it  had  before  presented  to  him  ;  and  he  resolved,  in  very 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  351 

scorn  of  his  ungrateful  foes,  in  very  defeat  of  their  in¬ 
human  wrath,  to  make  one  effort  for  his  life  !  He  divested 
himself  of  his  glittering  arms  ;  his  address,  his  dexterity, 
his  craft,  returned  to  him.  His  active  mind'^ran  over  the 
chances  of  disguise  —  of  escape;  —  he  left  the  hall  — 

—  passed  through  the  humbler  rooms,  devoted  to  the 

servitors  and  menials  —  found  in  one  of  them  a  coarse 
working  garb  —  indued  himself  with  it — placed  upon  his 
head  some  of  the  draperies  and  furniture  of  the  palace, 
as  if  escaping  with  them ;  and  said,  with  his  old  “fantas- 
tico  riso  “  When  all  other  friends  desert  me,  I  may 

well  forsake  myself  !  ”  With  that  he  awaited  his  occasion. 

Meanwhile  the  flames  burnt  fierce  and  fast ;  the  outer 
door  below  was  already  consumed  ;  from  the  apartment 
he  had  deserted  the  fire  burst  out  in  volleys  of  smoke  — 
the  wood  crackled  —  the  lead  melted  —  with  a  crash  fell 
the  severed  gates — the  dreadful  entrance  was  open  to  all 
the  multitude  —  the  proud  Capitol  of  the  Caesars  was  al¬ 
ready  tottering  to  its  fall  !  —  Now  was  the  time  I  —  he 
passed  the  flaming  door  —  the  smouldering  threshold  ; — • 
he  passed  the  outer  gate  unscathed — he  was  in  the  middle 
of  the  crowd.  “  Plenty  of  pillage  within,”  he  said  to  the 
bystanders,  in  the  Roman  patois,  his  face  concealed  by 
his  load  —  “  Suso,  suso  a  gliu  traditore  !  ”  ■]'  The  mob 
rushed  past  him  —  he  went  on  —  he  gained  the  last  stair 
descending  into  the  open  streets — he  was  at  the  last  gate 

—  liberty  and  life  were  before  him. 


*  Fantastic  smile  or  laugh, 
f  Down,  down  with  the  traitor! 


852 


RIE  N  ZI, 


A  soldier  (one  of  bis  own)  seized  him.  “Pass  not  — 
whither  goest  thou  ?  ” 

“  Beware,  lest  the  Senator  escape  disguised  !  ”  cried  a 
voice  behind — it  was  Yillani’s.  The  concealing  load  was 
torn  from  his  head  —  Bienzi  stood  revealed  ! 

“  I  am  the  Senator  I  ”  he  said,  in  a  loud  voice.  “  Who 
dare  touch  the  Representative  of  the  People  ?  ” 

The  multitude  were  round  him  in  an  instant.  Not  led, 
but  rather  hurried  and  whirled  along,  the  Senator  was 
borne  to  the  Place  of  the  Lion.  With  the  intense  glare 
of  the  bursting  flames,  the  grey  image  reflected  a  lurid 
light,  and  glowed  (that  grim  and  solemn  monument !)  as 
if  itself  of  fire  ! 

There  arrived,  the  crowd  gave  way,  terrified  by  the 
greatness  of  their  victim.  Silent  he  stood,  and  turned 
his  face  around  ;  nor  could  the  squalor  of  his  garb,  nor 
the  terror  of  the  hour,  nor  the  proud  grief  of  detection, 
abate  the  majesty  of  his  mien,  or  reassure  the  courage  of 
the  thousands  who  gathered,  gazing,  round  him.  The 
whole  Capitol,  wrapped^  in  fire,  lighted  with  ghastly 
pomp  the  immense  multitude.  Down  the  long  vista  of 
the  streets  extended  the  fiery  light  and  the  serried  throng, 
till  the  crowd  closed  with  the  gleaming  standards  of  the 
Colonna  —  the  Orsini  —  the  Savelli !  Her  true  tyrants 
were  marching  into  Rome  !  As  the  sound  of  their  ap¬ 
proaching  horns  and  trumpets  broke  upon  the  burning 
air,  the  mob  seemed  to  regain  their  courage.  Rienzi 
prepared  to  speak ;  his  first  word  was  the  signal  of  his 
own  death. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


353 


“Die,  tyrant!’’  cried  Cecco  del  Yecchio;  and  he 
plunged  his  dagger  in  the  Senator’s  breast. 

“  Die,  executioner  of  Montreal  !  ”  muttered  Yillani ; 
“  thus  the  trust  is  fulfilled  !  ”  and  his  was  the  second 
stroke.  Then,  as  he  drew  back,  and  saw  the  artisan,  in 
all  the  drunken  fury  of  his  brute  passion,  tossing  up  his 
cap,  shouting  aloud,  and  spurning  the  fallen  lion,  —  the 
young  man  gazed  upon  him  with  a  look  of  withering  and 
bitter  scorn,  and  said,  while  he  sheathed  his  blade,  and 
slowly  turned  to  quit  the  crowd  — 

“  Fool,  miserable  fool  !  thou  and  these  at  least  had  no 
blood  of  kindred  to  avenge!''^ 

They  heeded  not  his  words — they  saw  him  not  depart; 
for  as  Rienzi,  without  a  word,  without  a  groan,  fell  to 
the  earth  —  as  the  roaring  waves  of  the  multitude  closed 
over  him  —  a  voice,  shrill,  sharp,  and  wild,  was  heard 
above  all  the  clamor.  At  the  casement  of  the  palace 
(the  casement  of  her  bridal  chamber)  Nina  stood  !  — 
through  the  flames  that  burst  below  and  around,  her  face 
and  outstretched  arms  alone  visijDle  1  Ere  yet  the  sound 
of  that  thrilling  cry  passed  from  the  air,  down  with  a 
mighty  crash  thundered  that  whole  wing  of  the  Capitol 
—  a  blackened  and  smouldering  mass  I 

At  that  hour,  a  solitary  boat  was  gliding  swiftly  along 
the  Tiber.  ‘Rome  was  at  a  distance,  but  the  lurid  glow 
of  the  conflagration  cast  its  reflection  upon  the  placid 
and  glassy  stream:  —  fair  beyond  description  was  the 

landscape  —  soft  beyond  all  art  of  painter  and  of  poet, 
30*  X 


3S4 


RIENZT. 


the  sunlight  quivering  over  the  autumnal  herbage,  and 
hushing  into  tender  calm  the  waves  of  the  golden  river! 

Adrian’s  eyes  were  strained  towards  the  towers  of  the 
Capitol,  distinguished  by  the  flames  from  the  spires  and 
domes  around; — senseless,  and  clasped  to  his  guardian 
breast,  Irene  was  happily  unconscious  of  the  horrors  of 
the  time. 

“They  dare  not  —  they  dare  not,”  said  the  brave  Co- 
lonna,  “  touch  a  hair  of  that  sacred  head  !  —  If  Rienzi 
fall,  the  liberties  of  Rome  fall  for  ever  !  As  those  towers 
that  surmount  the  flames,  the  pride  and  monument  of 
Rome,  he  shall  rise  above  the  dangers  of  the  hour.  Be¬ 
hold,  still  unscathed  amidst  the  raging  element,  the 
Capitol  itself  is  his  emblem  I  ” 

Scarce  had  he  spoken,,  when  a  vast  volume  of  smoke 
obscured  the  fires  afar  off,  a  dull  crash  (deadened  by  the 
distance)  travelled  to  his  ear,  and  the  next  moment  the 
towers  on  which  he  gazed  had  vanished  from  the  scene, 
and  one  intense  and  sullen  glare  seemed  to  settle  over 
the  atmosphere, — making  all  Rome  itself  the  funeral  pyre 
of  THE  Last  of  the  Roman  Tribunes  I 


The  principal  authority  from  which  historians  have  taken  their  account 
of  the  life  and  times  of  Rienzi  is  a  very  curious  biography,  by  some  un¬ 
known  contemporary;  and  this,  which  is  in  the  Roman  patois  of  the 
time,  has  been  rendered  not  quite  unfamiliar  to  the  French  and  English 
reader  by  the  work  of  Pdre  du  Cerceau,  called  “Conjuration  de  Nicolas 
Gabrini,  dit  de  Rienzi,’’'^'"  which  has  at  once  pillaged  and  deformed  the 
Roman  biographer.  The  biography  I  refer  to  was  published  (and  the 
errors  of  the  former  editions  revised)  by  Muratori  in  his  great  collection  ; 
and  has  lately  been  reprinted  separately  in  an  improved  text,  accom¬ 
panied  by  notes  of  much  discrimination  and  scholastic  taste,  and  a  com¬ 
ment  upon  that  celebrated  poem  of  Petrarch,  “  Spirto  Gentil,”  which  the 
majority  of  Italian  critics  have  concurred  in  considering  addressed  to 
Rienzi,  in  spite  of  the  ingenious  arguments  to  the  contrary  by  the  Abb6 
de  Sade. 

This  biography  has  been  generally  lauded  for  its  rare  impartiality. 
And  the  author  does,  indeed,  praise  and  blame  alike  with  a  most  sing¬ 
ular  appearance  of  stolid  candor.  The  work,  in  truth,  is  one  of  those 
not  uncommon  proofs,  of  which  Boswell’s  “Johnson”  is  the  most  strik¬ 
ing,  that  a  very  valuable  book  may  be  written  by  a  very  silly  man.  The 
biographer  of  Rienzi  appears  more  like  the  historian  of  Rienzi’s  clothes, 
so  minute  is  he  on  all  details  of  their  color  and  quality  —  so  silent  is  he 
upon  everything  that  could  throw  light  upon  the  motives  of  their  wearer. 
In  fact,  granting  the  writer  every  desire  to  be  impartial,  he  is  too  foolish 
to  be  so.  It  requires  some  cleverness  to  judge  accurately  of  a  very  clever 
man  in  very  difficult  circumstances ;  and  the  worthy  biographer  is  ut¬ 
terly  incapable  of  giving  us  any  clue  to  the  actions  of  Rienzi  —  utterly 
unable  to  explain  the  conduct  of  the  man  by  the  circumstances  of  the 
time.  The  weakness  of  his  vision  causes  him,  therefore,  often  to-squint. 


*  See,  for  a  specimen  of  the  singular  blunders  of  the  Frenchman’s  work,  Ap¬ 
pendix  II. 


(355) 


350 


APPENDIX 


We  must  add  to  his  want  of  wisdom  a  want  of  truth,  which  the  Ilerod- 
otus-like  simplicity  of  his  style  frequently  conceals.  lie  describes  things 
which  had  no  witness  as  precisely  and  distinctly  as  those  which  he  him¬ 
self  had  seen.  For  instance,  before  the  death  of  Rienzi,  in  those  awful 
moments  when  the  Senator  was  alone,  unheard,  unseen,  he  coolly  informs 
us  of  each  motion,  and  each  thought  of  Rienzi’s,  with  as  much  detail  as 
if  Rienzi  had  returned  from  the  grave  to  assist  his  narration.  These 
obvious  inventions  have  been  adopted  by  Gibbon  and  others  with  more 
good  faith  than  the  laws  of  evidence  would  warrant.  Still,  however,  to 
a  patient  and  cautious  reader,  the  biography  may  furnish  a  much  better 
notion  of  Rienzi’s  character,  than  we  can  glean  from  the  historians  who 
have  borrowed  from  it  piece-meal.  Such  a  reader  will  discard  all  the 
writer’s  reasonings,  will  think  little  of  his  praise  or  blame,  and  regard 
only  the  facts  he  narrates,  judging  them  true  or  doubtful,  according  as 
the  writer  had  the  opportunities  of  being  himself  the  observer.  Thus 
examining,  the  reader  will  find  evidence  sufficient  of  Rienzi’s  genius  and 
Rienzi’s  failings:  Carefully  distinguishing  between  the  period  of  his 
power  as  Tribune,  and  that  of  his  power  as  Senator,  he  will  find  the 
Tribune  vain,  haughty,  fond  of  display  ;  but  despite  the  reasonings  of 
the  biographer,  he  will  not  recognize  those  faults  in  the  Senator.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  will  notice  the  difference  between  youth  and  maturity 
—  hope  and  experience  j  he  will  notice  in  the  Tribune  vast  ambition, 
great  schemes,  enterprising  activity  —  which  sober  into  less  gorgeous 
and  more  quiet  colors  in  the- portrait  of  the  Senator.  He  will  find  that 
in  neither  instance  did  Rienzi  fall  from  his  own  faults  —  he  will  find  that 
the  vulgar  moral  of  ambition,  blasted  by  its  own  excesses,  is  not  the  true 
moral  of  the  Roman’s  life;  he  will  find  that,  both  in  his  abdication  as 
Tribune,  and  his  death  as  Senator,  Rienzi  fell  from  the  vices  of  the  Peo¬ 
ple.  The  Tribune  was  a  victim  to  ignorant  cowardice: — the  Senator, 
a  victim  to  ferocious  avarice.  It  is  this  which  modern  historians  have 
failed  to  represent.  Gibbon  records  rightly,  that  the  Count  of  Minor- 
bino  entered  Rome  with  one  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers,  and  barricadoed 
the  quarter  of  the  Colonna — that  the  bell  of  the  Capitol  sounded  —  that 
Rienzi  addressed  the  People  —  that  they  were  silent  and  inactive  —  and 
that  Rienzi  then  abdicated  the  government.  But  for  this  he  calls  Rienzi 
“pusillanimous.”  Is  not  that  epithet  to  be  applied  to  the  People? 
Rienzi  invoked  them  to  move  ag.niinst  the  Robber — the  People  refused  to 
obey.  Rienzi  wished  to  fight  —  the  People  refused  to  stir.  It  was  not 
the  cause  of  Rienzi  alone  which  demanded  their  exertions  —  it  was 
the  cause  of  the  People  —  theirs,  not  his,  the  shame,  if  one  hundred 
and  fifty  foreign  soldiers  mastered  Rome,  overthrew  their  liberties, 
and  restofed  their  tyrants!  Whatever  Rienzi’s  sins,  whatever  his 
unpopularity,  their  freedom,  their  laws,  their  republic  were  at  s^ake; 


APPENDIX. 


S5T 


and  these  they  surrendered  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  hirelings.  This  is 
the  fact  that  damns  them  !  But  Rienzi  was  not  unpopular  when  he  ad¬ 
dressed  and  conjured  them;  they  found  no  fault  with  him.  “The  sighs 
and  the  groans  of  the  people,”  says  Sismondi,  justly,  “replied  to  his,” 
—  they  could  weep,  -but  they  would  not  fight.  This  strange  apathy  the 
modern  historians  have  not  accounted  for,  yet  the  principal  cause  was 
obvious  —  Rienzi  was  excommunicated ! In  stating  the  fact,  these 
writers  have  seemed  to  think  that  exeommunication  in  Rome,  in  the 
fourteenth  century,  produced  no  effect ! — the  effect  it  did  produce  I  have 
endeavored  in  these  pages  to  convey. 

The  causes  of  the  second  fall  and  final  murder  of  Rienzi  are  equally 
mis-stated  by  modern  narrators.  It  was  from  no  fault  of  his  —  no  in¬ 
justice,  no  cruelty,  no  e.xtravagance  —  it  was  not  from  the  execution  of 
Montreal,  nor  that  of  Pandulfo  di  Guido — it  was  from  a  gahelle  on  wine 
and  salt,  that  he  fell.  To  preserve  Rome  from  the  tyrants  it  was  neces¬ 
sary  to  maintain  an  armed  force ;  to  pay  the  force  a  tax  was  necessary; 
the  tax  was  imposed  —  and  the  multitude  joined  with  the  tyrants,  and 
their  cry  was,  “  Perish  the  traitor  who  has  made  the  gahelle  !"  This  was 
their  only  charge — this  the  only  crime  that  their  passions  and  their  fury 
could  cite  against  him. 


♦  And  this  curse  I  apprehend  to  have  been  the  more  effective  in  the  instance  of 
Rienzi.  from  a  fact  that  it  would  he  interesting  and  easy  to  establish :  viz.  that  he 
owed  his  rise  as  much  to  religious  as  to  civil  causes.  He  aimed  evidently  to  be  a 
religious  reformer.  All  his  devices,  ceremonies,  and  watchwords,  were  of  a  reli¬ 
gious  character.  The  monks  took  part  with  his  enterprise,  and  joined  in  the  revo¬ 
lution.  His  letters  are  full  of  mystical  fanaticism.  His  references  to  ancient 
heroes  of  Rome  are  always  mingled  with  invocations  to  her  Christian  Saints.  The 
Bible,  at  that  time  little  read  by  the  public  civilians  of  Italy,  is  constantly  in  his 
hands,  and  his  addresses  studded  with  texts.  His  very  garments  were  adorned 
with  sacred  and  mysterious  emblems.  No  doubt,  the  ceremony  of  his  knighthood, 
which  Gibbon  ridicules  as  an  act  of  mere  vanity,  was  but  another  of  his  religious 
extravagances ;  for  he  peculiarly  dedicated  his  knighthood  to  the  service  of  the 
Santo  Spirito  ;  and  his  bathing  in  the  vase  of  Constantine  was  quite  of  a  piece,  not 
with  the  vanity  of  the  Tribune,  but  with  the  extravagance  of  the  fanatic.  In  fact 
they  tried  hard  to  prove  him  a  heretic ;  but  he  escaped  a  charge  under  the  mild 
Innocent,  which,  a  century  or  two  before,  or  a  century  or  two  afterwards,  would 
have  sufficed  to  have  sent  a  dozen  Rienzis  to  the  stake.  I  have  dwelt  the  more 
upon  this  point,  because,  if  it  be  shown  that  religious  causes  operated  with  those 
of  liberty,  we  throw  a  new  light  upon  the  whole  of  that  most  extraordinary  revo¬ 
lution,  and  its  suddenness  is  infinitely  less  striking.  The  deep  impression  Rienzi 
produced  upon  that  populace,  was  thus  stamped  with  the  spirit  of  the  religious 
enthusiast  more  than  that  of  the  classical  demagogue.  And,  as  in  the  time  of 
Cromwell,  the  desire  for  temporal  liberty  was  warmed  and  colored  by  the  presence 
of  a  holler  and  more  spiritual  fervor:  —  “The  Good  Estate”  (Buono  State)  of 
Rienzi  reminds  us  a  little  of  the  Good  Cause  of  General  Cromwell. 


358 


APPENDIX. 


The  faults  of  Rienzi  are  sufficiently  visible,  and  I  have  not  unsparingly 
^hown  them ;  but  we  must  judge  men,  not  according  as  they  approach 
perfection,  but  according  as  their  good  or  bad  qualities  preponderate  — 
their  talents  or  their  weaknesses  —  the  benefits  they  effected,  the  evil 
they  wrought.  For  a  man  who  rose  to  so  great  a  power,  Rienzi’s  faults 
were  singularly  few — crimes  he  committed  none.  He  is  almost  the  only 
man  who  ever  rose  from  the  rank  of  a  citizen  to  a  power  equal  to  that  of 
monarchs  without  a  single  act  of  violence  or  treachery.  When  fa  power, 
he  was  vain,  ostentatious,  and  imprudent, — always  an  enthusiast — often 
a  fanatic ;  but  his  very  faults  had  greatness  of  soul,  and  his  very  fanati¬ 
cism  at  once  supported  his  enthusiastic  daring,  and  proved  his  earnest 
honesty.  It  is  evident  that  no  heinous  charge  could  be  brought  against 
him  even  by  his  enemies,  for  all  the  accusations  to  which  he  was  sub¬ 
jected,  when  excommunicated,  exiled,  fallen,  were  for  two  offences^ 
which  Petrarch  rightly  deemed  the  proofs  of  his  virtue  and  his  glory  : 
first,  for  declaring  Rome  to  be  free;  secondly,  for  pretending  that  the 
Romans  had  a  right  of  choice  in  the  election  of  the  Roman  emperor.* 
Stern,  just,  and  inflexible,  as  he  was  when  Tribune,  his  fault  was  never 
that  of  wanton  cruelty.  The  accusation  against  him,  made  by  the  gentle 
Petrarch,  indeed,  was  ‘'^at  he  was  not  determined  enough  —  that  he  did 
not  consummate  the  revolution  by  exterminating  the  patrician  tyrants. 
When  Senator,  he  was,  without  sufficient  ground,  accused  of  avarice  in 
the  otherwise  just  and  necessary  execution  of  Montreal. f  It  was  natural 
enough  that  his  enemies  and  the  vulgar  should  suppose  that  he  executed 
a  creditor  to  get  rid  of  a  debt ;  but  it  was  inexcusable  in  later,  and  wiser, 
and  fairer  writers  to  repeat  so  great  a  calumny,  without  at  least  adding 
the  obvious  suggestion,  that  the  avarice  of  Rtenzi  could  have  been  much 
better  gratified  by  sparing  than  by  destroying  the  life  of  one  of  the 
richest  subjects  in  Europe.  Montreal,  we  may  be  quite  sure,  would 
have  purchased  his  life  at  an  immeasurably  higher  price  than  the  paltry 
sum  lent  to  Rienzi  by  his  brothers.  And  this  is  not  a  probable  hypothe¬ 
sis,  but  a  certain  fact,  for  we  are  expressly  told  that  Montreal,  '‘knowing 
that  the  Tribune  was  in  want  of  money,  offered  Rienzi,  that  if  he  would 
let  him  go,  he,  Montreal,  would  furnish  him  with  not  only  twenty  thou¬ 
sand  florins  [four  times  the  amount  of  Rienzi’s  debt  to  him],  but  with  as 

*  The  charge  of  heresy  was  dropped. 

t  Gibbon,  in  mentioning  the  execution  of  Montreal,  omits  to  state  that  Montreal 
was  more  than  suspected  of  conspiracy  and  treason  to  restore  tlie  Colonna 
Matthew  Villani  records  it  as  a  common  belief  that  such  truly  was  the  offence  of 
the  Proven9al.  The  biographer  of  Rienzi  gives  additional  evidence  of  the  fact. 
Gibbon’s  knowledge  of  this  time  was  superficial.  As  one  instance  of  this,  he 
strangely  enough  repre.sents  Montreal  as  the  head  of  the^rsi  Free  Company  that 
desolated  Italy  :  he  took  that  error  from  the  Pere  du  Cerceau. 


APPENDIX. 


359 


# 


many  soldiers  and  as  much  money  ns  he  pleased.”  This  offer  Rienzi 
did  not  attend  to.  Would  he  have  rejected  it  had  avarice  been  his  mo¬ 
tive?  And  what  culpable  injustice  to  mention  the  vague  calumny  with¬ 
out  citing  the  practical  contradiction  !  When  Gibbon  tell  us,  also,  that 

the  most  virtuous  citizen  of  Rome,”  meaning  Pandulfo,  or  Pandolficcio 
di  Guido,* * * §  was  sacrificed  to  his  jealousy,  he  a  little  exaggerates  the  ex¬ 
pression  bestowed  upon  Pandulfo,  which  is  that  of  “virtuoso  assaij”  and 
that  expression,  too,  used  by  a  man  who  styles  the  robber  Montreal, 
“  excellente  uomo  —  di  quale  fama  suono  per  tutta  la  Italia  di  virtude”f 
(so  good  a  moral  critic  was  the  writer  !)  — but  he  also  altogether  waives 
all  mention  of  the  probabilities  that  are  sufficiently  apparent,  of  the 
scheming  of  Pandulfo  to  supplant  Rienzi,  and  to  obtain  the  “Signoria 
del  Popolo.”  Still,  however,  if  the  death  of  Pandulfo  may  be  considered 
a  blot  on  the  memory  of  Rienzi,  it  does  not  appear  that  it  was  this  which 
led  to  his  own  fate.  The  cry  of  the  mob  surrounding  his  palace  was 
not,  “  Perish  him  who  executed  Pandulfo,”  it  was  —  and  this  again  and 
again  must  be  carefully  noted  —  it  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than, 

Perish  him  who  has  made  the  gabelle!” 

Gibbon  sneers  at  the  military  skill  and  courage  of  Rienzi.  For  this 
sneer  there  is  no  cause.  His  first  attempts,  his  f  "st  rise,  attested  suffic¬ 
iently  his  daring  and  brave  spirit;  in  every  danger  he  was  present  — 
never  shrinking  from  a  foe  so  long  as  he  was  supported  by  the  people. 
He  distinguished  himself  at  Viterbo  when  in  the  camp  of  Albornoz,  in 
several  feats  of  arms,j;  and  his  end  was  that  of  a  hero.  So  much  for  his 
courage ;  as  to  his  military  skill,  it  would  be  excusable  enough  if  Rienzi 
— the  eloquent  and  gifted  student,  called  from  the  closet  and  the  rostrum 
to  assume  the  command  of#an  army  —  should  have  been  deficient  in  the 
art  of  war;  yet,  somehow  or  other,  upon  the  whole  his  arms  prospered. 
He  defeated  the  chivalry  of  Rome  at  her  gates;  and  if  he  did  not  after 
his  victory  march  to  Marino,  for  which  his  biographer^  and  Gibbon  blame 
him,  the  reason  is  sufficiently  clear — “  Volea  pecunia  per  soldati”  —  he 
wanted  money  for  the  soldiers  !  On  his  return  as  Senator,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  he  had  to  besiege  Palestrina,  which  was  considered 
even  by  the  ancient  Romans  almost  impregnable  by  position;  but  during 
the  few  weeks  he  was  in  power,  Palestrina  yielded — all  his  open  enemies 
were  defeated  —  the  tyrants  expelled — -Rome  free;  and  this  without 


*  Matthew  Villani  speaks  of  him  as  a  wise  and  good  citizen,  of  great  repute 
among  the  people  —  and  this,  it  seems,  he  really  was. 

f  “  Au  excellent  man,  whose  fame  for  valor,  resounded  throughout  all  Italy.’ 

I  Vit  di  Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  ii.  cap.  14. 

§  In  this  the  anonymoms  writer  compares  him  gravely  to  Hannibal,  who  knew 
how  to  conquer,  but  not  how  to  use  his  conquest. 


360 


APPENDIX. 


support  from  any  party,  papal  or  popular,  or,  as  Gibbon  well  expresses 
it,  “suspected  by  the  people  —  abandoned  by  the  prince.” 

On  regarding  what  Rienzi  did,  we  must  look  to  his  means,  to  the  dif¬ 
ficulties  that  surrounded  him,  to  the  scantiness  of  his  resources.  We  see 
a  man  without  rank,  wealth,  or  friends,  raising  himself  to  the  head  of  a 
popular  government  in  the  metropolis  of  the  Church — in  the  City  of  the 
Empire.  We  see  him  reject  any  title  save  that  of  a  popular  magistrate 
—  establish  at  one  stroke  a  free  constitution  —  a  new  code  of  law.  We 
see  him  first  expel,  then  subdue,  the  fiercest  aristocracy  in  Europe — con¬ 
quer  the  most  stubborn  banditti,  rule  impartially  the  most  turbulent 
people,  embruted  by  the  violence,  and  sunk  in  the  corruption  of  centu¬ 
ries.  We  see  him  restore  trade  —  establish  order  —  create  civilization  as 
by  a  miracle — receive  from  crowned  heads  homage  and  congratulation — 
outwit,  conciliate,  or  awe,  the  wiliest  priesthood  of  the  papal  diplomacy 
— and  raise  his  native  city  at  once  to  sudden  yet  acknowledged  eminence 
over  every  other  state  ;  its  superior  in  arts,  wealth,  and  civilization  ;  — 
we  ask  what  errors  we  are  to  weigh  in  the  opposite  balance,  and  we  find 
an  unnecessary  ostentation,  a  fanatical  extravagance,  and  a  certain  in¬ 
solent  sternness.  But  what  are  such  offences  —  what  the  splendor  of  a 
banquet,  or  the  ceremony  of  knighthood,  or  a  few  arrogant  words,  com¬ 
pared  with  the  vices  of  almost  every  prince  who  was  his  contemporary? 
r  This  is  the  way  to  judge  character:  we  must  compare  men  with  men, 

Sand  not  with  ideals  of  what  men  should  be.  We  look  to  the  amazing 
benefits  Rienzi  conferred  upon  his  country.  We  ask  his  means,  and  see 
but  his  own  abilities.  His  treasury  becomes  impoverished — his  enemies 
revolt  —  the  Church  takes  advantage  of  his  weakness  —  he  is  excommu¬ 
nicated —  the  soldiers  refuse  to  fight  —  the  people  refuse  to  assist — the 
barons  ravage  the  country  —  the  ways  are  closed,  the  provisions  are  cut 
off  from  Rome."^-'  A  handful  of  banditti  enter  the  city — Rienzi  proposes 
to  resist  them — the  people  desert — he  abdicates.  Rapine,  famine,  mas¬ 
sacre,  ensue — they  who  deserted  regret,  repent — yet  he  is  still  unassisted, 
alone  —  now  an  exile,  now  a  prisoner,  his  own  genius  saves  him  from 
every  peril,  and  restores  him  to  greatness.  He  returns,  the  pope’s  legate 
refuses  him  arras — the  people  refuse  him  money.  He  re-establishes  law 
and  order,  expels  the  tyrants,  renounces  his  former  faultsf — is  prudent, 


*  “  Allora  le  strade  furo  chiuse,  li  massari  de  la  terre  non  portavano  grano,  ogni 
die  nasceva  nuovo  rumore.” —  Vit.di  Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  37. 

t  This,  the  second  period  of  his  power,  has  been  represented  by  Gibbon  and 
others  as  that  of  his  principal  faults,  and  he  is  evident!}'  at  this  time  no  favorite 
with  his  contemporaneous  biographer ;  but  looking  to  what  he  di  t,  we  find  amazing 
dexterity,  prudence,  and  energy  in  the  most  difficult  crisis,  and  none  of  his  earlier 
faults.  It  is  true,  that  he  does  not  show  the  same  brilliant  extravagance  which. 


APPENDIX. 


3Ci 


wary,  provident  —  reigns  a  few  weeks  —  taxes  the  people,  in  support  of 
the  people,  and  is  torn  to  pieces!  One  day  of  the  rule  that  followed 
is  sufficient  to  vindicate  his  reign  and  avenge  his  memory  —  and  for 
centuries  afterwards,  whenever  that  wretched  and  degenerate  populace 
dreamed  of  glory  or  sighed  for  justice,  they  recalled  the  bright  vision  of 
their  own  victim,  and  deplored  the  fate  of  Cola  di  Rienzi.  That  he  was 
not  a  tyrant  is  clear  in  this  —  when  he  was  dead,  he  was  bitterly  re¬ 
gretted.  The  people  never  regret  a  tyrant!  From  the  unpopularity 
that  springs  from  other  faults  there  is  often  a  reaction  j  but  there  is  no 
reaction  in  the  populace  towards  their  betrayer  or  oppressor.  A  thou- 

rsand  biographies  cannot  decide  upon  the  faults  or  merits  of  a  ruler  like 
the  one  fact,  whether  he  is  beloved  or  hated  ten  years  after  he  is  dead. 
But  if  the  ruler  has  been  murdered  by  the  people,  and  is  then  repented 
them,  their  repentance  is  his  acquittal. 

I  have  said  that  the  moral  of  the  Tribune’s  life,  and  of  this  fiction,  is 
not  the  stale  and  unprofitable  moral  that  warns  the  ambition  of  an  in¬ 
dividual. —  More  vast,  more  solemn,  and  more  useful,  it  addresses  itself 
to  nations.  If  I  judge  not  erringly,  it  proclaims  that,  to  be  great  and 
free,  a  People  must  trust  not  to  individuals  but  themselves  —  that  there 
is  no  sudden  leap  from  servitude  to  liberty  —  that  it  is  to  institutions, 
not  to  men,  that  they  must  look  for  reforms  that  last  beyond  the  hour — 
that  their  own  passions  are  the  real  despots  they  should  subdue,  their 
own  reason  the  true  regenerator  of  abuses.  With  a  calm  and  a  noble 
people,  the  individual  ambition  of  a  citizen  can  never  effect  evil : — to  be 


I  suspect,  dazzled  his  contemporaries  more  than  his  sounder  qualities :  but  we 
find  that  in  a  few  weeks  he  had  conquered  all  his  powerful  enemies  —  that  his 
eloquence  was  as  great  as  ever  —  his  promptitude  greater  —  his  diligence  indefati¬ 
gable  —  his  foresight  unslumbering.  “  lie  alone,”  says  the  biographer,  “carried 
on  the  affairs  of  Rome,  hut  his  officials  were  slothful  and  cold.”  This  too,  tortured 
by  a  painful  disease — already — though  yet  young — broken  and  infirm.  The  only 
charges  against  him,  as  Senator,  were  the  deaths  of  Montreal  and  Pandulfo  di 
Guido,  the  imposition  of  the  gahelle,  and  the  renunciation  of  his  former  habits  of 
rigid  abs|.inence,  for  indulgence  in  wine  and  feasting.  Of  the  first  charges,  the 
reader  has  already  been  enabled  to  form  a  judgment.  To  the  last,  alas!  the  reader 
must  extend  indulgence,  and  for  it  he  may  find  excuse.  We  must  compassionate 
even  more  than  condemn  the  man  to  whom  excitement  has  become  nature,  and 
who  resorts  to  the  physical  stimulus  or  the  momentary  Lethe,  when  the  mental 
exhilirations  of  hope,  youth,  and  glory,  begin  to  desert  him.  His  alleged  intem¬ 
perance,  however,  which  the  Romans  (a  peculiarly  sober  people)  might  perhaps 
exaggerate,  and  for  which  he  gave  the  excuse  of  a  thirst  produced  by  disease  con¬ 
tracted  in  the  dungeon  of  Avignon — evidently  and  confessedly  did  not  in  the  least 
diminish  his  attention  to  business,  which,  according  to  his  biographer,  was  at  that 
time  greater  than  ever. 

II.— 31 


362 


APPENDIX. 


impatient  of  chains,  is  not  to  be  worthy  of  freedom — to  murder  a  magis¬ 
trate  is  not  to  ameliorate  the  laws.^  Tho  people  write  their  own  con¬ 
demnation  whenever  they  use  characters  of  blood;  and  theirs  alone  the 
madness  and  the  crime,  if  they  crown  a  tyrant  or  butcher  a  victim. 


APPENDIX  II. 

A  WORD  UPON  THE  WORK  BY  PERE  DU  CERCEAU  AND 
PERE  BRUMOY,  ENTITLED,  ‘‘  CONJURATION  DE  NICOLAS 
GABRINI,  DIT  DE  RIENZI,  TYRAN  DE  ROME.” 

Shortly  after  the  Romance  of  “Rienzi”  first  appeared,  a  translation 
of  the  biography  compiled  by  Cerceau  and  Brumoy  was  published  by 
Mr.  Whittaker.  The  translator,  in  a  short  and  courteous  advertisement, 
observes,  “That  it  has  always  been  considered  as  a  work  of  authority j 
and  even  Gibbon  appears  to  have  relied  on  it  without  further  research 
....  that,  “  as  a  record  of  facts,  therefore,  the  work  will,  it  is  presumed, 
be  acceptable  to  the  public.”  The  translator  has  fulfilled  his  duty  with 
accuracy,  elegance,  and  spirit, — and  he  must  forgive  me,  if,  in  justice  to 
History  and  Rienzi,  I  point  out  a  very  few  from  amongst  a  great  many 
reasons,  why  the  joint  labor  of  the  two  worthy  Jesuits  cannot  be  con¬ 
sidered  either  a  work  of  authority,  or  a  record  of  facts.  The  translator 
observes  in  his  preface,  “that  the  general  outline  (of  Du  Cerceau’s  work) 
was  probably  furnished  by  an  Italian  life  written  by  a  contemporary  of 
Rienzi.”  The  fact,  however,  is,  that  Du  Cerceau’s  book  is  little  more 
than  a  wretched  paraphrase  of  that  very  Italian  life  mentioned  by  the 
translator,  —  full  of  blunders,  from  ignorance  of  the  peculiar  and  anti¬ 
quated  dialect  in  which  the  original  is  written,  and  of  assumptions  by 
the  Jesuit  himself,  which  rest  upon  no  authority  whatever.  I  will  first 
show,  in  support  of  this  assertion,  what  the  Italians  themselves  think 
of  the  work  of  Fathers  Brumoy  and  Du  Cerceau.  The  Signor  Zefirino 
Re,  who  has  proved  himself  singularly  and  minutely  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  that  time,  and  whose  notes  to  the  “  Life  of  Rienzi”  are 


*  Rienzi  was  murdered  because  the  Romans  had  been  in  the  habit  of  murdering 
whenever  they  were  displeased.  They  had,  very  shortly  before,  stoned  one  magis¬ 
trate,  and  torn  to  pieces  another.  By  the  same  causes  and  the  same  career,  a  people 
may  be  made  to  resemble  the  bravo  whose  hand  wanders  to  his  knife  at  the  small¬ 
est  affront,  and  if  to-day  he  poniards  the  enemy  who  assaults  him,  to-morrow  he 
strikes  the  friend  who  would  restrain, 
f  Here,  however,  he  does  inju.stice  to  Gibbon. 


APPENDIX. 


303) 

characterized  by  acknowledged  acuteness  and  research,  thus  describes 
the  manner  in  which  the  two  Jesuits  compounded  this  valuable  ‘‘record 
of  facts.” 

“Father  du  Cerceau  for  his  work  made  use  of  a  French  translation  of 
the  life  by  the  Italian  contemporary  printed  in  Bracciano,  1624,  executed 
by  Father  Sanadon,  another  Jesuit,  from  whom  he  received  the  MS. 
This  proves  that  Du  Cerceau  knew  little  of  our  ‘volgar  lingua’  of  the 
fourteenth  century.  But  the  errors  into  which  he  has  run  show,  that 
even  that  little  was  unknown  to  his  guide,  and  still  less  to  Father 
Brumoy  (however  learned  and  reputed  the  latter  might  be  in  French 
literature),  who,  after  the  death  of  Du  Cerceau,  supplied  the  deficiencies 
in  the  first  pages  of  the  author’s  MS.,  which  were,  I  know  not  how, 
lostj  and  in  this  part  are  found  the  more  striking  errors  in  the  work, 
which  shall  be  noticed  in  the  proper  place;  in  the  mean  time,  one  speci¬ 
men  will  suflBce.  In  the  third  chapter,  book  i..  Cola,  addressing  the 
Romans,  says,  ‘  Che  lo  giubileo  si  approssima,  che  se  la  gente,  la  quale 
verra  al  giubileo,  li  trova  sproveduti  di  annona,  le  pietre  (per  metatesi 
sta  scritto  le  preite)  ne  porteranno  da  Roma  per  rabbia  di  fame,  e  lo 
pietre  non  basteranno  a  tanta  moltitudine.  —  II  francese  traduce.  Le 
jubil6  approche,  et  vous  n’avez  ni  provisions,  ni  vivres ;  les  Strangers 

. trouveront  votre  ville  denu6  de  tout.  Ne  eomptez  point  sur  les  se- 

eours  dcs  gens  d’Eglise;  ils  sortiront  de  la  ville,  s’ils  n’y  trouvent  de  quoi 
subsister:  et  d’ailleurs  pourroient-ils  suflUre  S,  la  multitude  innombrable, 
que  se  trouvera  dans  vos  murs?”’^  “ Buon  Dio!”  exclaims  the  learned 
Zefirino,  “  Buon  Dio  !  le  pietre  prese  per  tanta  gente  di  chiesa  !”  f 

Another  blunder  little  less  extraordinary  occurs  in  Chapter  vi.,  in 
which  the  ordinances  of  Rienzi’s  Buono  Stato  are  recited. 

It  is  set  forth  as  the  third  ordinance:  —  “Che  nulla  casa  di  Roma  sia 
data  per  terra  per  alcuna  cagione,  mavada  in  commune  which  simply 
means  that  the  houses  of  delinquents  should  in  no  instance  be  razed,  but 
added  to  the  community  or  confiscated.  This  law  being,  intended  partly 
to  meet  the  barbarous  violences  with  which  the  excesses  and  quarrels  of 
the  barons  had  half  dismantled  Rome,  and  principally  to  repeal  some 
old  penal  laws  by  which  the  houses  of  a  certain  class  of  offenders  might 
be  destroyed;  but  the  French  translator  construes  it,  ^‘Qne  niiUe  maison 
de  Rov\e  ne  saroit  doyinie  en  propre,  pour  quelque  raison  que  ce  pfit 
6tre;  mais  que  les  revenus  en  appartiendroient  au  public  !”i 

*  The  English  translator  could  not  fail  to  adopt  the  Frenchman’s  ludicrous 
mistake. 

f  See  Preface  to  Zefirino  Re’s  edition  of  the  “  Life  of  Rienzi,”  p.  9,  note  on  Du 
Cerceau. 

J  The  English  translator  makes  this  law  unintelligible ;  —  “That  no  family  of 
Rome  shall  appropriate  to  their  own  use  what  they  think  fit,  but  that  the  revenues 
shall  appertain  to  the  public”!!! — The  revenues  of  what? 


APPENDIX. 


sr)4 

Put  enough  of  the  blunders  arising  from  ignorance.  —  I  must  now  be 
permitted  to  set  before  the  reader  a  few  of  the  graver  offences  of  wilful 
assumption  and  preposterous  invention. 

When  Rienzi  condemned  some  of  the  barons  to  death,  the  PSre  thus 
writes  (I  take  the  recent  translation  published  by  Mr.  Whittaker)  :  — 

‘‘  The  next  day  the  Tribune,  resolving  more  than  ever  to  rid  himself 
of  his  prisoners,  ordered  tapestries  of  two  colors,  red  and  white,  to  be 
laid  over  the  place  whereon  he  held  his  councils,  and  which  he  had  made 
choice  of  to  be  the  theatre  of  this  bloody  tragedy,  as  the  extraordinary 
tapestry  seemed  to  declare.  He  afterwards  sent  a  cordelier  to  every 
one  of  the  prisoners  to  administer  the  Sacraments,  and  then  ordered  the 
Capitol  bell  to  be  tolled.  At  that  fatal  sound,  and  the  sight  of  the  con¬ 
fessors,  the  lords  no  longer  doubted  of  sentence  of  death  being  passed 
upon  them.  They  all  confessed  except  the  old  Colonna,  and  many  re¬ 
ceived  the  communion.  In  the  mean  while  the  people,  naturally  prompt 
to  attend,  when  their  first  impetuosity  had  time  to  calm,  could  not  xoithout 
pity  behold  the  dismal  prejiarations  which  tcere  making.  The  sight  of  the 
bloody  color  in  the  tapestry  shocked  them.  On  this  first  impression  they 
joined  in  opinion  in  relation  to  so  many  illustrious  heads  now  going  to 
be  sacrificed,  and  lamented  more  their  unhappy  catastrophe,  as  no  crime 
had  been  proved  upon  them  to  render  them  worthy  of  such  barbarous 
treatment.  Above  all,  the  unfortunate  Stephen  Colonna,  whose  birth,  age, 
and  affable  behavior  commanded  respect,  excited  a  particular  compassion. 
An  universal  silence  and  sorrow  reigned  among  them.  Those  who  were 
nearest  Rienzi  discovered  an  alteration.  They  took  the  opportunity  of 
imploring  his  mercy  towards  the  prisoners  in  terms  the  most  affecting 
and  moving.” 

Will  it  be  believed,  that  in  the  original  from  which  the  PSre  du  Cer- 
ceau  borrows  or  rather  imagines  the  touching  recital,  there  is  not  a 
single  syllable  about  the  pity  of  the  people,  nor  their  shock  at  the  bloody 
colors  of  the  tapestry,  nor  their  particular  compassion  for  the  unfortunate 
Stephen  Colonna?  —  in  fine,  i\\e  people  are  not  even  mentioned  at  all. 
All  that  is  said  is,  “  Some  Roman  citizens  [alcuni  cittadini  Romani]  con¬ 
sidering  the  judgment  Rienzi  was  about  to  make,  interposed  with  soft 
and  caressing  words,  and  at  last  changed  the  opinion  of  the  Tribune 
all  the  rest  is  the  pure  fiction  of  the  ingenious  Frenchman  !  Again,  Du 
Cerceau,  describing  the  appearance  of  the  barons  at  this  fatal  moment, 
says,  “Notwithstanding  the  grief  and  despair  visible  in  their  counte¬ 
nances,  they  showed  a  noble  indignation,  generally  attendant  on  innocence 
in  the  hour  of  death.”  What  Says  the  authority  from  which  alone,  ex¬ 
cept  his  own,  the  good  father  could  take  his  account?  Why,  not  a  word 
about  this  noble  indignation,  or  this  parade  of  innocence  !  The  original 


'  I  I  I  f.  I  Y 

appendix!^  'I  'SCfi.  I 

says  simply,  that  the  barona  icere  ao  frozen  loith  terror  that  they  were 
finable  to  apeak”  (diventaso  si  gelati  che  non  poteano  favellare);  “that 
the  greater  part  humbled  themselves  ”  (e  preze  penitenza  e  communione) ; 
that  when  Rienzi  addressed  them,  all  the  barons  [come  dannati]  stood 
in  sadness.”*  Du  Cerceau  then  proceeds  to  state,  that  “although  he 
[Rienzi]  was  grieved  at  heart  to  behold  his  victims  snatched  from  him, 
he  endeavored  to  make  a  merit  of  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  people.”  There  ia 
not  a  xoord  of  this  in  the  original! 

So,  when  Rienzi,  on  a  later  occasion,  placed  the  prefect,  John  di  Vico, 
in  prison,  this  Jesuit  says,  “  To  put  a  gloaa  upon  thia  action  before  the 
eyes  of  the  people,  Rienzi  gave  out  that  the  governor,  John  di  Vico, 
keeping  a  correspondence  with  the  conspirators,  came  with  no  other 
view  than  to  betray  the  Romans.”  And  if  this  scribbler,  who  pretends 
to  have  consulted  the  Vatican  MSS.,  had  looked  at  the  most  ordinary 
authorities,  he  would  have  seen  that  John  di  Vico  did  come  with  that 
view.  (See,  for  Di  Vico’s  secret  correspondence  with  the  barons,  “  La 
Cron.  Bologn.”  p.  406;  and  “La  Cron.  Est.”  p.  444.) 

Again,  in  the  battle  between  the  barons  and  the  Romans  at  the  gates, 

Du  Cerceau  thus  describes  the  conduct  of  the  Tribune:  —  “The  Tribune, 
amidst  his  troops,  know  so  little  of  what  had  passed,  that  seeing  at  a 
distance  one  of  his  standards  fall,  he  looked  upon  all  as  lost,  and  casting 
up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  full  of  despair,  cried  out,  ‘  0  God,  will  you  then 
forsake  me?’  But  no  sooner  was  he  informed  or  the  entire  defeat  of  his 
enemies,  than  his  dread  and  cowardice  even  turned  to  boldness  and 
arrogance.” 

Now  in  the  original  all  that  is  said  of  this  is,  “  That  it  is  true  that  the 
standard  of  the  Tribune  fell — the  Tribune,  astonished  [or,  if  you  please, 
dismayed,  abigottio],  stood  with  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  and  could 
find  no  other  words  than,  ‘0  God,  hast  thou  betrayed  me?’  This 
evinced,  perhaps,  alarm  or  consternation  at  the  fall  of  his  standard  —  a 
consternation  natural,  not  to  a  coward,  but  a  fanatic  at  such  an  event. 
But  not  a  word  is  said  about  Rienzi’s  cowardice  in  the  action  itself;  it  is 
not  stated  when  the  accident  happened — nothing  bears  out  the  implica¬ 
tion  that  the  Tribune  was  remote  from  the  contest,  and  knew  little  of 
what  passed.  And  if  this  ignorant  Frenchman  had  conaulted  any  other 
contemporaneoua  hiatorian  whatever,  he  would  have  found  it  asserted  by 
them  all,  that  the  fight  was  conducted  with  great  valor,  both  by  the 
Roman  populace  and  their  leader  on  the  one  side,  and  the  barons  on  the 
other. — G.Vill.  lib.  xii.  cap.  105;  “Cron.  Sen.”  tom.  xv. ;  Murat,  p.  119; 

“  Cron.  Est.”  p.  444.  Yet  Gibbon  rests  his  own  sarcasm  on  the  Tribune’s 
courage  solely  on  the  baseless  exaggeration  of  this  Pere  du  Cerceau. 

*  See  “Vita  di  Col.  di  Rienzi,”  lib.  i,  cap.  29. 

31  * 


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APPENDIX 


So  little,  indeed,  did  this  French  pretender  know  of  the  history  of  the 
time  and  place  he  treats  of,  that  he  imagines  the  Stephen  Colonna  who 
was  killed  in  the  battle  above  mentioned  was  the  old  Stephen  Colonna, 
and  is  very  pathetic  about  his  “venerable  appearance,”  &c.  This  error, 
with  regard  to  a  man  so  eminent  as  Stephen  Colonna  the  elder,  is  inex¬ 
cusable  ;  for,  had  the  priest  turned  over  the  other  pages  of  the  very  col¬ 
lection  in  which  he  found  the  biography  he  deforms,  he  would  have 
learned  that  old  Stephen  Colonna  was  alive  some  time  after  that  battle. 
—  (Cron.  Sen.  Murat,  tom.  xv.  p.  121.) 

Again,  just  before  Rienzi’s  expulsion  from  the  oflSce  of  Tribune,  Du 
Cerceau,  translating  in  his  headlong  way  the  old  biographer’s  account 
of  the  causes  of  Rienzi’s  loss  of  popularity,  says,  “  He  shut  himself  up 
in  his  palace*,  and  his  presence  was  known  only  by  the  rigorous  punish¬ 
ment  which  he  caused  his  agents  to  inflict  upon  the  innocent.”  Not  a 
word  of  this  in  the  original! 

Again,  after  the  expulsion,  Du  Cerceau  says  that  the  barons  seized 
upon  the  “immense  riches”  he  had  amassed, — the  words  in  the  original 
are,  “grand!  ornament!,”  which  are  very  different  things  from  immense 
riches.  But  the  most  remarkable  sins  of  commission  are  in  this  person’s 
account  of  the  second  rise  and  fall  of  Rienzi  under  the  title  of  Senator. 
Of  this  I  shall  give  but  one  instance:  — 

“  The  Senator,  who  perceived  it,  became  only  the  more  cruel.  His 
jealousies  produced  only  fresh  murders.  In  the  continual  dread  he  was 
in,  that  the  general  discontent  would  terminate  in  some  secret  attempt 
upon  his  person,  he  determined  to  intimidate  the  most  enterprising,  by 
sacrificing  sometimes  one,  sometimes  another,  and  chiefly  those  whose 
riches  rendered  them  the  more  guilty  in  his  eyes.  Numbers  were  sent 
every  day  to  the  Capitol  prison.  Happy  were  those  who  could  get  off 
with  the  confiscation  of  their  estates.” 

0/  these  grave  charges  there  is  not  a  syllable  in  the  original!  And  so 
much  for  the  work  of  Pdre  Cerceau  and  Pere  Brumoy,  by  virtue  of  which 
historians  have  written  of  the  life  and  times  of  Rienzi,  and  upon  the  fig¬ 
ments  of  which  the  most  remarkable  man  in  an  age  crowded  with  great 
characters  is  judged  by  the  general  reader! 

I  must  be  pardoned  for  this  criticism,  which  might  not  have  been 
necessary,  had  not  the  work  to  which  it  relates,  in  the  English  transla¬ 
tion  quoted  from  (a  translation  that  has  no  faults  but  those  of  the  French 
original),  been  actually  received  as  an  historical  and  indisputable  author¬ 
ity,  and  opposed  with  a  triumphant  air  to  some  passages  in  my  own  nar¬ 
rative  which  were  literally  taken  from  the  authentic  records  of  the  time. 


THE  END. 


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